PR  6037  H524  L6  1905 
UNIVERSITY   OF  CALIFORNIA     SAN    DIEGO 


3   1822  01232  3564 


'      THE 
LOST  VIOL 


BY 


M.  P.   $HIEL 


IBRARY 

IVERSITT  OF 
ALiFORNlA 
;AN  DIEGO 


PR  6037  H524  L6  1905 
UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA     SAN    DIEM 

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3   1822  01232  3564 


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THE  LOST   VIOL 


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The  Lost  Viol 


BY  M.  P.   SHIEL 


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Edward  J.  Clode 

Publisher,  New  York 
1905 


Copyright,  1905 
By  Edward  J.  Clode 


The  Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass.  U.  S.A. 


"  He  struck  his  breast,  and  thus  reproved  his  heart: 
'  Endure,  my  heart!  thou  heavier  fate  hast  borne.'  " 

"  Let  us  consider  it,  then,"  said  I,  "  for  the  discourse  is 
not  about  a  trifle,  but  about  the  manner  in  which  we  ought 
to  live."     "  Consider,  then,"  said  he.     "  I  will,"  said  I. 


The  Lost  Viol 


CHAPTER  I 

"  "^  7"ES,  a  grand  night,"  was  the  thought  in  Miss 
^l  Kathleen  Sheridan's  mind,  as  she  passed  into 
-*-  the  west  lodge-gates  of  Orrock  Park  on  the 
evening  of  the  21st  of  November,  '98:  an  evening  of 
storm,  with  the  roar  of  the  sea  in  the  ear.  The  young 
lady  stopped  at  Embree  Pond  in  the  park  to  watch 
the  sheet  of  water  shivering  to  its  dark  heart  under 
the  flight  of  the  squalls;  then  with  her  long-legged 
walk  (she  was  a  hunchback),  went  on  her  way,  showing 
in  her  face  her  delight  in  this  bleak  mood  of  nature. 

Some  way  further,  however,  on  hearing  the  hoofs 
of  a  horse,  her  expression  changed  to  one  of  very  real 
fright,  for  she  had  a  thought  of  one  Sir  Percy  Orrock, 
beheaded  by  Cromwell,  whose  ghost  gallops  about  on 
a  headless  horse  in  rough  weather;  but  this  turned  out 
to  be  only  Mr.  Millings,  the  land-steward:  for,  on 
coming  round  to  the  manor-house,  the  young  lady 
found  Millings  there  talking  to  Sir  Peter  Orrock,  who 
at  a  window  was  holding  his  ear  forward  to  hear  the 
land-steward's  news. 

[1] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Millings,"  called  Miss  Kath- 
leen, laughing  from  ear  to  ear,  with  strings  of  black 
hair  draping  her  face.  'Well,  uncle,  I  have  been 
sketching  it  all  on  the  heath  —  witches  on  broomsticks, 
'strange  screams  of  death  in  the  air.'  That  silver  lime 
of  Farmer  Carr's  is  blown  flat.  Uncle,  if  you  ask  me 
to  stop  and  dine,  I  may  consent." 

"Hm,"  muttered  Sir  Peter  to  himself,  "better  stick 
to  your  own  dinner.  Go  on,  Millings  —  same  old 
story,  eh?" 

"Same  old  story,  Sir  Peter,"  answered  Mr.  Millings: 
"there  won't  be  any  of  Norfolk  left  soon,  at  this  rate. 
Mrs.  Dawe's  cottage  gone,  and  with  it  her  son,  James 
Dawe,  and  three  of  the  boats  — " 

"Well,  it  is  their  own  fault!"  called  out  the  little 
maid,  "living  on  the  edge  of  the  cliffs,  when  they 
know  — " 

"Got  nowhere  else  to  live,"  muttered  Sir  Peter. 
"  Dawe  drowned,  Millings  ?  " 

"No,  Sir  Peter,  but  I'm  afraid  I  must  say  rescued 
at  an  awful  cost:  he  was  rescued  by  Miss  Langler,  who 
has  just  been  taken  home  to  Woodside  in  a  dying 
state." 

"  Hannah  ?  Hannah  Langler  ? "  breathed  Sir  Peter, 
turning  very  pale. 

"  The  lad  was  carried  out  two  hundred  yards,"  said 
Mr.  Millings,  "where  he  clung  to  the  bottom  of  one 
of  the  three  boats;  on  the  cliffs  I  found  a  crowd  watch- 
ing him,  including  Fagan,  the  coast-guardsman,  who 

[2] 


The  Lost  Viol 

told  me  that  the  lifeboat  was  coming  round  from 
Wardenham;  but  I  thought  from  the  first  that  it  would 
come  too  late,  for  I  could  see  Dawe  nearer  in  every 
time  the  lighthouse  beam  swept  over  him:  and  so  it 
proved,  for,  as  the  lifeboat-light  appeared  round  the 
north  headland,  Dawe  was  thrown  up  by  a  breaker  on 
a  strip  of  sand  —  " 

"  But  Hannah  ?  "  said  the  baronet. 

"Miss  Langler  was  in  the  crowd  with  her  father," 
said  Millings;  "she  had  been  holding  up  Dawe's 
mother,  who  was  fainting,  but  when  Dawe  was  all  of 
a  sudden  lying  on  the  strip  of  sand  below  us,  I  saw 
Miss  Langler  running  among  the  fishermen,  begging 
one  and  another  to  save  him  before  the  next  wave. 
'  There's  nothing  like  venturing,'  I  heard  her  say  twice 
or  thrice,  but  they  answered  that  that  would  only 
mean  two  deaths  instead  of  one,  and  I  fully  agreed 
with  them.  When  the  next  breaker  drew  back  from 
the  cliffs  we  all  looked  to  see  Dawe  gone  with  it:  but 
there  he  still  was,  and  I  now  heard  Miss  Langler  cry 
out  to  Horsford,  the  lighthouse-keeper,  'Now,  now, 
Horsford,  venture  now,'  and  then,  all  at  once,  I  was 
aware  that  she  herself  was  going  down  the  cliff-side 
by  that  little  foot-path  near  the  church-tower." 

"  But,  God's  name,  man,  couldn't  some  of  you  stop 
her,  a  whole  crowd  of  you  there  ? "  said  Sir  Peter. 

"It  couldn't  be  done,  Sir  Peter,  I  regret  to  say. 
Two  or  three  did  make  a  try  to  hold  her,  but  she  was 
gone    like    the    wind.     Personally,    I    confess,    I    was 

[3] 


The  Lost  Viol 

rather  paralyzed:  she  looked  pretty  small  down  there 
in  the  mouth  of  the  sea,  like  a  fly  in  an  engine  at  work; 
it  was  rather  painful.  Old  Farmer  Langler  fell  on 
his  knees;  no  one  had  a  word  to  say.  I  don't  suppose 
it  lasted  ten  minutes  on  the  whole,  but  I  shouldn't 
care  to  live  through  it  again.  Dawe's  a  heavy  lout, 
a  head  taller  than  she,  and  twice  she  was  felled  by  the 
sea  with  him  in  her  arms.  When  a  wave  withdrew, 
we  saw  them  still  there,  and  another  wave  coming. 
Two  of  the  womenfolk  fainted.  I  with  some  other 
men  ran  half-way  down  to  see  better,  and  got  drenched. 
However,  she  won  back  to  the  path  with  her  unwieldy 
prize,  and  there  gave  in.  We  then  ran  down  and  got 
them  somehow  to  the  top;  Dawe  was  taken  to  the 
postmistress's  cottage,  and  Miss  Langler  home  to 
Woodside.     Both  are  in  a  pretty  bad  way,  they  say." 

"Well,  it  is  her  own  fault!"  called  the  quaint  maid 
shrilly  against  the  wind  from  the  outer  hall.  "  Hannah 
has  a  secret  pride  in  her  physical  powers  which  stood 
in  need  of  a  ducking." 

The  baronet  muttered  something,  turned  from  the 
window,  and  in  five  minutes  was  passing  out  of  the 
house,  well  wrapped  up,  with  his  rusty  top-hat  pressed 
on  his  head,  and  a  footman  swinging  a  lantern  before 
his  steps. 

"  What,  going  to  Woodside,  uncle  ?  "  asked  Kathleen, 
who  still  stood  in  the  outer  hall,  "how  wonderfully 
good  of  you ! " 

The  baronet  did  not  answer.     She  went  out  with 

[4] 


The  Lost  Viol 

him.  Beyond  the  east  gates  they  saw  the  lighthouse 
beam  traveling  over  land  and  sea  in  turn,  the  one 
thing  which  the  storm  could  not  fluster.  A  drizzle, 
like  spray  caught  from  the  sea,  struck  the  face.  It 
was  very  bleak.  They  met  only  a  manure-cart  whose 
driver  saw,  head-to-wind,  his  horses'  manes,  tails,  and 
forelocks  floating  out  at  random  on  the  streams  of  the 
storm.  Sir  Peter  was  silent,  but  the  quaint  maid  had 
ever  something  to  say  in  her  laughing  way.  "  Isn't  it 
fine?"  she  cried  out:  "one  feels  as  if  one  were  oneself 
the  storm!"  Then  presently:  "Did  you  read  all  that 
about  Chris  Wilson?  That  boy  is  going  to  be  the 
maestro  of  the  day,  you'll  see.  He  has  won  the  year's 
prize-violin,  and  been  publicly  embraced  by  Strauss. 
Yvonne  writes  me  that  he's  the  wildest  of  madcaps, 
and  leaves  broken  hearts  in  every  capital:  this  is  the 
boy  that  I  am  supposed  to  be  engaged  to." 

At  this  Sir  Peter  stooped  sharply  to  her  ear,  saying: 
"  Better  drop  that  talk,  and  think  of  something  besides 
men." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  ? "  cried  back  Kathleen : 
"wasn't  it  arranged  before  I  was  born  that  he  should 
marry  me?  Not  that  I  care  at  all,  or  would  marry 
him,  if  he  wanted  me";  in  a  lower  tone  she  added: 
"you  have  no  humor,  mon  oncle." 

"This  is  Hannah  Langler's  birthday,  too!"  she 
called  out  presently:  "did  you  know?  She  will  re- 
member the  date  of  her  ducking.  Isn't  it  an  extraor- 
dinary thing  that  on  each  of  her  birthdays  that  girl 

[5] 


The  Lost  Viol 

receives  a  present  from  some  unknown  person  ?  This 
time  it  is  a  ring  that  must  have  cost  two  hundred 
pounds." 

"  How  old  is  she  to-day  ?  "  asked  Sir  Peter,  stooping 
to  her  ear. 

"Twenty-four." 

"  No  —  twenty-three." 

"Excuse  me,  uncle,  twenty-four.  But  what  does  it 
matter  to  you,  really  ?  I  believe  you  cherish  some  sort 
of  odd  weakness  for  this  Langler  girl.  She  tells  me 
that  every  time  you  see  her  you  whisper  into  her  ear 
always  the  same  words,  '  Uglier  than  ever,  I  see.'  Well 
that  might  be  a  pleasantry,  if  she  were  pretty,  but  as 
what  you  say  happens  to  be  true,  it  is  hardly  polite, 
is  it  ?  The  rector  has  suggested  that  perhaps  this 
yeoman's  daughter  is  destined  to  become  —  Lady 
Orrock.  I  told  him  that  things  of  that  sort  don't 
happen." 

"Hm!"  muttered  Sir  Peter;  "talk  too  much." 

Kathleen  now  went  up  a  lane  on  the  left  leading  to 
her  own  place,  "The  Hill,"  while  Sir  Peter  and  the 
footman  went  on  down  yew  and  hawthorn  hedges,  till 
the  light  of  Woodside  Farm  appeared;  and  great  was 
the  wonder  of  the  old  farmer  and  of  Mrs.  Langler 
when  they  saw  Sir  Peter  come  to  see  Hannah,  for  the 
baronet  was  a  rather  crusty  and  rusty  type  —  tall, 
with  a  stoop  and  an  asthmatic  chest  —  from  whom  a 
jerk  of  the  head  was  about  all  that  people  on  the 
estate  expected  in  the  way  of  friendliness. 

[6] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Sir  Peter  saw  Hannah,  who  lay  unconscious  from 
her  drenching,  stayed  a  little  with  the  old  couple  and 
old  Dr.  Williams,  and  then  trudged  back  to  the 
Hall. 

He  sat  up  so  late  that  night,  sniffing  his  three  dried 
apples,  that  Bentley,  his  old  house-steward,  became 
uneasy.  He  was  writing  a  long  letter;  for  his  discovery 
that  night  that  Hannah  Langler  was  twenty-four,  not 
twenty-three,  as  he  had  somehow  thought,  was  now 
hurrying  him  to  an  action  which  for  fifteen  years  had 
lain  planned  in  his  heart. 

"Better,"  he  wrote  to  his  nephew  Chris  Wilson, 
"come  here  for  two  or  three  months,  and  let  me  see 
if  I  like  you.  As  I  have  not  seen  you  since  you  were 
sixteen,  and  then  only  for  a  few  minutes  in  Paris,  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  know  what  sort  of  being  you  are: 
but  I  was  attached  to  your  mother,  and  if  you  have 
any  touch  of  her,  it  is  possible  that  both  myself  and 
the  young  lady  to  whom  I  refer  may  care  to  have  you 
permanently  about  us.  Your  income,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  hardly  amounts  to  more  than  £500,  and  if 
Miss  Hannah  Langler  will  marry  you,  she  will  have 
from  me  a  jointure  of  ,£3,000  a  year,  and  will,  moreover, 
be  my  heiress:  in  which  case  you  may  decide  to  give  up 
scraping  fiddles  for  the  rest  of  your  days,"  etc.,  etc. 

This  letter '  went  off  to  Paris  the  next  day.  Four 
days  later  came  the  reply,  written  apparently  in  a  heat 
of  haste: 


[7] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"  My  dear  Sir  and  Uncle  : 

"I  am  obliged  by  your  most  kind  invitation  to 
Orrock  Hall,  and  delighted  that  I  have  so  near  a 
relative  as  my  uncle  to  remember  me.  I  shall  cer- 
tainly come  to  visit  you,  if  the  good  people  here  will  let 
me,  and  I  will  marry  whomsoever  you  desire,  since  that 
is  your  caprice.  You  should  expect  me,  therefore,  let  us 
us  say,  next  Tuesday.  Ever  yours  sincerely, 

"Chris  Wilson." 


[8] 


CHAPTER  II 

The  appointed  Tuesday  came,  but  Chris  Wilson 
did  not  come  with  it;  nor  did  he  send  any  excuse. 

After  a  month  Sir  Peter  wrote  again,  angrily  this 
time;  in  two  weeks  the  answer  came  from  Vienna, 
saying  that  Chris  would  find  it  a  "  genuine  delight "  to 
visit  so  near  and  dear  a  relative  as  his  uncle  during  the 
month  of  February  next.  But  February,  March,  April, 
and  May  passed,  and  Chris  Wilson  did  not  come  to 
Orrock,  nor  send  any  excuse. 

Once  more  Sir  Peter  wrote,  no  longer  an  invita- 
tion, but  a  letter  bitter  to  the  point  of  invective;  he 
received  no  answer  to  this,  but  on  a  day  in  June 
when  no  one  expected  him  at  Orrock,  Chris  Wilson 
sat  in  the  Wardenham  train  from  London,  with  the 
score  of  Fidelio  open  on  his  knees  and  three  violins 
about  him. 

At  Wardenham,  of  course,  no  carriage  awaited  him, 
and  there  he  stood,  a  violin-case  in  each  hand,  looking 
up  and  down  the  road  with  a  pathetic  dismay.  He 
believed  that  he  had  written  to  Sir  Peter  the  date  of 
his  coming,  and  had  perhaps  expected  a  procession 
with  flags  to  meet  him,  but  no  one  even  noticed  him. 
'Well,   the  languid  people,"   he  said  with  his   meek 

[9] 


The  Lost  Viol 

smile,  for  it  seemed  to  him  odd  that  any  one  should  be 
unconscious  of  his  arrivals  and  departures. 

At  last  one  of  the  donkey-baskets  peculiar  to  War- 
denham  was  got;  an  old  box,  which  was  the  master's, 
and  a  more  costly  portmanteau,  which  was  the  valet's, 
were  put  into  it,  and  they  set  off  through  a  land  of 
cornfields  and  farms,  past  the  lighthouse,  the  windmill 
on  the  hill,  the  village  with  its  clothes  hung  out  to  dry 
in  the  sunlight.  Anon  the  sea  was  in  sight  with  sails 
on  it,  and  the  cliffs  in  their  colored  carpet  of  poppy, 
thistle,  and  sea-daisy;  and  anon  the  basket-chaise  was 
among  hills  of  heather  and  fern.  There  was  hardly 
a  sound,  save  the  martin's  wing,  the  bee  fumbling  into 
its  lavender-bed,  and  dream-laughter  borne  from  some 
boys  and  girls  playing  cricket  in  a  meadow.  Three 
men  mending  a  net  before  a  cottage  door,  among  them 
that  Willie  Dawe  whom  Hannah  had  rescued  from 
the  sea,  seemed  to  work  in  a  doze.  But  Chris  Wilson, 
who  was  a  native  of  cities,  and  was  being  jolted  in  the 
lanes,  had  no  eye  for  all  this,  and  cried  out  anon  to 
his  driver :  "  Is  it  far,  my  friend  ? " 

Beyond  the  ruined  church-tower  on  the  cliffs,  the 
chaise  turned  inland  between  hedgerows  full  of  wild 
yellow  tulip,  and  in  a  lane  promenaded  by  geese  passed 
Woodside  peeping  through  its  nest  of  old  trees.  At 
Woodside  gate  stood  a  young  lady,  looking  up  and 
down  the  lane  with  shaded  eyes,  who  suddenly  felt 
ashamed  of  her  hair,  but  the  moment  the  chaise  had 
passed,    beckoned    eagerly,    whereat    another    young 

[10] 


The  Lost  Viol 

lady    spending    the    day    at    the    farm    ran    out    to 
her. 

"Too  late,"  said  Hannah  Langler:  "a  Wardenham 
chaise  with  a  young  man  in  it,  my  dear!  the  squire's 
nephew,  I  believe,  has  violins  —  you  should  have  run 
quicker !  Saw  without  seeing  me  at  first,  then  suddenly 
realizing  a  petticoat  about,  looked  back  and  smiled  at 
me  with  little  nods  in  an  easy,  cheeky  kind  of  a  sort 
of  a  way  —  " 

"Did  you  nod  back,  Hannah?" 

"  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan !  Of  course  not.  But 
it  wasn't  done  anyhow,  my  dear,  but  prince-like  — " 

"  What  is  he  like,  Hannah  ? "  asked  Anne,  highly 
interested. 

"  Not  handsome,  I  think  —  broad-faced  —  stout  — 
a  bit  overgrown  —  more  body  than  head,  top  of  his 
nose  browned,  my  dear,  like  an  apple  just  turning,  a 
split  cloth  hat  cocked  well  back,  so  that  I  could  see 
his  hair  parted  in  the  middle,  spreads  out  behind  in 
a  mass  of  curls  over  his  shoulders  —  brown,  lighter 
than  mine,  his  eyes  blue  and  heavy  —  drowsy,  tipsy- 
like  —  forehead  small  and  flushed  — " 

"You  saw  enough  of  him  all  in  a  moment!" 

"But  it  was  that  quietly  wicked  little  smile,  with 
little  movements  of  his  eyebrows  — -!" 

"  He  must  be  fast,  Hannah." 

"But  a  dear  boy,  I  should  think." 

"I  wonder  if  Miss  Kathleen  will  be  falling  in  love! 
for  all  that  girl  thinks  about  is  love  and  marriage." 

[11] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Poor  little  dear,"  sighed  Hannah,  with  a  change 
from  very  gay  to  very  grave :  "  it  is  her  poor  little  body 
that's  to  blame  for  that,  Anne.  I  believe  she  is  ever 
wondering  if  everybody  finds  her  as  plain  as  she  finds 
herself:  the  big  doubt  of  her  life,  that;  so  she's  ever  on 
the  watch  with  her  sharp  grey  eyes  to  solve  it  one  way 
or  the  other,  with  a  fear  of  the  verdict  trembling  in 
her  poor  heart  all  the  time." 

"Hannah,  sometimes  I  believe  you  see  right  into 
people's  hearts,"  remarked  Anne. 

"Know  what's  in  Kathleen's,  anyway,"  answered 
Hannah  with  a  pleased  laugh :  "  she  would  give  all  she 
is  worth  and  a  penny  more  to  enter  somebody  else's 
mind  for  one  minute  to  watch  herself,  and,  of  course, 
she  cares  most  what  the  male  gender  thinks  of  her,  so 
every  farm-lad  she  sees,  she  asks  herself,  'How  does 
he  like  me  ? '  And  to  think  that  she's  doomed  to  stew 
in  that  pot  to  the  day  of  her  death !  Ah,  we  ought  —  " 

A  voice  from  the  farmhouse  called  "  Hannah ! "  and 
"  Coming,  mother ! "  called  Hannah  —  "  no  peace  to 
the  wicked  "  —  and  ran  away  inward. 

The  chaise  and  violinist,  meanwhile,  had  arrived 
before  the  low  front  of  Orrock  with  its  array  of  many- 
shafted  oriels;  whereat  Sir  Peter,  hearing  of  it,  hurried 
from  his  work  of  docketing  old  documents  in  the 
library,  and  found  Chris  Wilson  tapping  with  his  foot 
on  the  floor  of  the  inner  hall. 

"You  Chris  Wilson?"  asked  Sir  Peter,  gazing  over 
his  glasses. 

[12] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"The  same,  sir,"  answered  Chris. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  now,  sir  ?  " 

"Absolutely  nothing,  sir,"  answered  Chris,  with  his 
meek  smile. 

"I  don't  like  erratic  persons,  sir,"  said  Sir  Peter. 
"  I  don't  allow  any  one  about  me  to  be  erratic,  except 
myself.     You  promised  —  " 

"Then  you  are  my  own  uncle,  sir,  for  I  am  of 
precisely  the  same  turn  of  mind  myself.  If  you  are  as 
erratic  as  your  footman,  I  have  only  to  wish  you  a 
good  day  —  " 

"Stop,  sir;  did  you  not  promise  to  be  here  since  the 
month  of  February  last?" 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  remember,  sir.  What  happened 
in  the  month  of  February  last  are  among  the  things  in 
which  I  no  longer  take  an  interest.  I  am  here  now; 
let  that  suffice  you." 

"  Why,  he  chooses  some  of  his  words  something  like 
a  Frenchman,"  muttered  Sir  Peter.  "Why  on  earth, 
sir,  didn't  you  let  me  know  that  you  were  coming  ?  " 

"Didn't  I,  sir?     I  think  so." 

"Hm!  memory  wants  brushing  up.     But,  sir  — 

"  May  I  remind  you,  sir,  that  I  am  holding  an  Amati 
fiddle  in  a  terrible  draft  ?  If  you  invite  me  to  come  in, 
I  wiU." 

"  Then,  sir  —  come  in." 

Sir  Peter  turned  inward  muttering,  and  the  stranger 
was  presently  led  to  his  own  apartments,  whence  he 
would  not  stir  for  the  rest  of  that  day;  till  late  into  the 

[13] 


The  Lost  Viol 

night  sounds  of  music  —  studies  in  chords,  songs  — ■ 
were  heard  coming  from  behind  the  locked  doors  of 
the  musician's  quarters,  so  that  near  midnight  Sir 
Peter  stamped  his  list  slippers  in  one  of  the  library 
bear-skins  and  covered  his  ears  with  his  palms. 

The  next  morning  there  was  much  ado  when  Chris 
sent  Grimani,  his  valet,  to  ask  that,  since  dejeuner  was 
to  be  "breakfast,"  it  should  be  put  off  to  ten  o'clock. 
The  baronet  at  first  refused,  but  yielded  afterwards; 
and  Chris  came  down  in  a  better  mood,  asking  as  he 
sat  to  table :  "  Have  I  been  in  this  place  before,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  have  when  a  boy,"  answered  Sir  Peter. 

"  Charming  place !  Does  the  whole  of  this  place 
become  my  property  at  your  death,  sir?" 

"No,  sir,  unless  I  am  foolish  enough  to  die  without 
a  will;  and  you  should  not  contemplate  my  death,  sir." 

"God  retard  it,  sir.  I  don't  contemplate  it,  I  only 
conceive  it.     May  you  live  a  thousand  years." 

"Hm  —  and  you  ten  thousand." 

"By  the  way,  sir,  was  my  mother  an  elder  sister  of 
yours,  or  a  younger?" 

"You  don't  know  much  about  your  family,  my 
friend." 

"  My  good  sir,  if  you  had  ever  produced  four  simul- 
taneous A  flats  on  the  violin  before  the  age  of,  say, 
twenty,  you  would  understand  that  my  time  for  family 
histories  has  been  short." 

"Why,  the  fellow  takes  offence  for  nothing,"  thought 
Sir  Peter. 

[14] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"So  you  know  more  about  your  violin  than  about 
your  mother,  sir?" 

"  My  violin  is  my  wife,"  said  Chris. 

"  Got  three  wives." 

"A  full  harem,  sir!  and  all  are  sirens.  But  was  my 
mother  older  or  younger  than  you  ?  " 

"Younger,  sir." 

'What  would  be  my  own  age  now,  sir?" 

"Memory  gone  crazy!"  muttered  Sir  Peter. 

"I  remember  my  nineteenth  birthday,"  said  Chris, 
"my  father  being  then  still  alive,  but  since  his  death 
no  one  tells  me  anything." 

'You  are  now  three  months  over  twenty-two,  sir." 

"  But  as  to  your  other  sisters,  sir,  there  were  —  how 
many  ?  " 

'Your  aunts  Margaret  and  Jane,  sir." 

"I  remember;  one  married  the  Marquis  de  Pen- 
charry-Strannik.     And  the  other?" 

"  Jane  married  an  Irish  judge  named  Sheridan." 

"Both  dead,  sir?" 

'Yes.     Your  mother,  too,  is  dead,  sir." 

"  I  know  it  well,  sir,  for  though  she  died  when  I  was 
quite  young,  I  loved  her  with  enthusiasm.  Excellent 
woman!  And  my  two  aunts,  did  they  leave  behind 
them  any  family  ?  " 

"Each  left  one  daughter:  Margaret's  daughter  is 
Yvonne  de  Pencharry-Strannik  whose  place,  '  Chatcau- 
brun,'  is  near  Toulouse;  Jane's  daughter  is  Miss 
Kathleen  Sheridan,  whose  English  seat,  'The  Hill,'  is 

[15] 


Thb  Lost  Viol 

not  a  mile  from  here.  She's  pretty  sure  to  come  peep- 
ing about  here  to-day,  so  you'll  see  her,  if  you  don't 
lock  all  the  doors  of  the  place.!' 

"Are  they  charming  people,  my  two  cousins?" 

"I  know  little  of  Yvonne,  though  I'm  supposed  to 
be  one  of  her  guardians.  She  was  here  five  years  ago 
when  she  was  sixteen.  I  believe  she's  considered  a 
beauty,  and  a  leader  of  fashion  in  the  south  of  France. 
The  other  one,  Kathleen,  is  a  spiteful  little  hunch- 
back—" 

At  that  very  moment  the  quaint  maid  herself  entered, 
laughing  with  all  her  beautiful  teeth,  while  Chris 
rushed  headlong  from  the  table  to  meet  her,  and  hung 
over  her  hand  in  a  rapture. 

"Heartiest  welcomes  to  Orrock,  cousin  Chris,"  said 
Kathleen;  "we  have  not  met  since  you  were  a  little 
thing  of  six  —  " 

"  That  meeting  is  delightfully  stored  in  my  memory," 
murmured  Chris.     And  Sir  Peter  went,  "Hm!" 

"I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  come  till  late  last 
night!"  said  Kathleen,  putting  her  bunch  of  pink 
hollyhocks  and  grasses  into  a  china  bowl.  "  Uncle 
Peter,  you  might  have  sent  to  tell  one!  The  difficulty 
now  that  we  have  him  will  be  to  keep  him!" 

She  played  her  fine  eyes  so  coquettishly,  that  Chris 
said: 

"I  will  stay  as  long  as  you  wish." 

'That  is  sweet  of  you,  then.  But  the  wonder  is 
that  you  came!     Did  Uncle  Peter  write  to  ask  you? 

[16] 


The  Lost  Viol 

» 
He  never  told  me !    If  I  could  flatter  myself,  now,  that 

I  was  a  motive  — " 

"Who  else?"  said  he,  half  with  his  lips  and  half 
with  his  eyebrows. 

The  little  maid's  eyes  rested  upon  him,  and  she 
thought  to  herself,  "  Is  not  this  a  dear  boy  ?  " 

"  But  how  are  we  to  amuse  him  ?  "  she  asked.  "  He 
won't  like  wild  flowers  and  sea-bathing^  you  know, 
Uncle  Peter,  nor  Friday-night  whist-parties,  nor  the 
county  people,  nor  the  Marstons  and  Iliffes.  We  must 
have  dances  —  " 

"  Can  you  accompany  ?  "  asked  Chris. 

"  Why  —  yes." 

"And  excellently,  I  am  certain." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  hardly  any  woman  can  accompany, 
but  you  try  me  and  see!"  she  laughed,  half-nervously, 
half  conscious  of  a  cleverness  that  was  quite  Puck-like. 

But  something  was  not  right  with  the  musician's 
chocolate !  he  gave  one  sad  look  of  reproach  at  Grimani, 
whose  clasped  fingers  were  heard  to  crack  for  nervous- 
ness; and  this  for  some  time  threw  an  awkwardness 
over  the  breakfast. 

"I  don't  know  how  you  will  find  Uncle  Peter's 
pianos,"  said  Kathleen  when  they  rose,  "but  I  think 
something  of  my  own  grand;  better  let  me  take  you  to 
the  Hill  at  once!" 

Chris  let  her  do  this  before  lunch,  and  stayed  with 
her  for  hours.  The  moment  he  was  gone  the  little 
maid  flew  to  gaze  in  her  mirror  at  a  yellow  face  wedged 

[17] 


The  Lost  Viol 

between  high  shoulders;  she  smiled,  and  her  young 
mouth  was  enclosed  in  a  series  of  wrinkles,  like  brackets ; 
she  walked,  and  it  was  from  a  waist  up  at  her  chest. 
Or  perhaps  the  mirror  lied  a  little  to  her  eyes  ?  She 
had  that  doubt,  that  hope,  within  her.  Chris  had 
been  meant  for  her  before  her  birth,  and  she  was  born 
like  this,  if  the  mirror  was  quite  true.  She  knew  pain 
and  fear  in  that  hour.  Many  had  been  her  loves  and 
fevers  before,  but  Chris  Wilson  compared  with  other 
men  was  like  a  moon  wailing  music  in  its  orbit,  and 
upon  him  henceforth  her  ambitious  heart  was  set. 

Nor  was  she  in  despair.  "  He  is  delighted  with  me ! " 
she  said  to  one  Miss  Olivia,  her  companion  at  the  Hill 
since  childhood.  "  He  told  me  that  he  had  rarely  met 
an  accompanist  who  so  foreknew  the  '  history  of  his 
emotions';  and  in  going  he  said,  'Thank  you  very 
much:  you  are  among  the  virtuosi.'  I  never  dreamt 
that  I  could  play  like  that,  Olivia;  my  soul  seemed  to 
mix  with  his,  and  my  fingers  became  his." 

"  What  a  terrible  lot  of  Schubert ! "  said  Miss  Olivia. 
"But  do  you  think  Mr.  Wilson  really  great?" 

"Divine,  you  mean,"  said  Kathleen.  "This  boy  is 
one  of  the  sons  of  thunder,  and  lords  of  the  soul,  I  tell 
you.  From  the  moment  his  bow  touched  his  Amati's 
sweet,  sweet  A  to  his  last  note,  it  was  all  up  with  me, 
Olivia.  Oh,  the  technicality  of  his  infinite  cadenzas, 
his  heavenly  grace  —  and  his  hands !  just  made  for 
stopping  intervals,  with  two  of  the  fingers  quite  de- 
formed by  his  awfully  high  bridge.     I  must  go  out." 

[18] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"But  it  is  near  dinner-time,  and  drizzling — !" 

"  I  don't  care,  I  can't  stop  in  the  house." 

It  was  already  dark,  but  Kathleen  went  out,  and 
within  an  hour  a  stable-boy  was  galloping  to  fetch 
Dr.  Williams  to  her  bedside. 

"Miss  Sheridan  has  seen  Shuck,  sir,"  the  boy 
answered  when  the  doctor  asked  what  was  the  matter 
—  "  Shuck "  being  the  ghost  of  a  headless  dog  which 
travels  furiously  across-country  from  Marsham  to  St. 
Fay's  about  that  hour.  'Tut,  tut,"  said  Dr.  Williams, 
"your  mistress  has  caught  sight  of  a  white  rabbit, 
boy." 

''Whatever  it  was,"  said  the  boy,  "she  went  out  for 
a  walk  and  ran  back  screaming  all  the  way  at  the  top 
of  her  voice,  and  you've  got  to  come  at  once,  doctor, 
for  she's  very  bad." 

Kathleen  was  subject  to  these  transports  and  break- 
downs, and  for  a  week  she  lay  tossing,  with  those  two 
images,  "Shuck"  and  Chris  Wilson,  blazing  like 
day-stars  in  her  fever. 

During  this  time  Hannah  Langler  had  been  greatly 
exalted,  for  Sir  Peter  had"  had  her  to  dinner  at  the 
Hall,  and  Hannah  had  heard  his  whisper  at  her  ear, 
"  Mustn't  tell  you  how  ugly  you  are  to-night,  because 
you  are  my  guest."  She  was,  indeed,  from  of  old, 
quite  at  home  at  the  Hall,  for  she  would  allow  no 
hand  but  hers  to  make  Sir  Peter's  special  pound  of 
Jersey  butter  at  Woodside,  and  liked  to  bring  over 
presents  of  cream-cheese,  lark's  eggs,  sometimes  help- 

[19] 


The  Lost  Viol 

ing  old  Bentley  in  the  management;  but  dining  among 
the  great  ones  was  rather  another  matter.  The  news 
of  a  strange  creature  at  Orrock  was  abroad,  the 
"  county  "  was  coming  to  hear  him  play,  and  all  among 
the  "county"  Hannah  found  herself,  with  a  rose  in 
her  hair,  and  on  her  finger  that  mysterious  ring,  sent 
her  —  by  whom  ?  —  on  her  twenty -fourth  birthday.  It 
was  Sir  Peter's  will. 

"  Can  you  accompany  ?  "  Chris  asked  her  when  she 
begged  him  to  play. 

"  Oh ! "  she  laughed,  "  Hymns  New  and  Old  is  my 
musical  level!" 

"Never  mind,  I'll  play  for  you." 

He  struck  round  his  long  Tourte  clouds  of  rosin, 
tossed  his  hair  back,  chinned  his  thick-stringed  Ber- 
gonzi,  and  flooded  the  drawing-room  with  Rode's  air 
in  G.  Hannah  gazed  as  if  alarmed  at  something  hap- 
pening without  or  within  her,  and  at  one  point  pressed 
the  hand  of  Mrs.  Horsnel,  the  rector's  wife.  Chris 
had  chosen  his  fiddle  of  greatest  sonority  to  move  her 
by  mere  power;  and  she,  too,  admitted  him,  in  Kath- 
leen's words,  one  of  the  "sons  of  thunder." 

"Isn't  he  a  dear  boy?"  murmured  Mrs.  Horsnel 
when  it  was  all  over. 

"Yes,"  breathed  Hannah,  like  one  who  sees  the  sea 
for  the  first  time. 

Some  time  afterwards  when  Chris  and  Sir  Peter 
were  alone  late  at  night  after  a  card-party,  the  baronet 
suddenly  asked:  "  What  do  you  think  of  MissLangler  ?  " 

[20] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"  Nice  and  plump,"  said  Chris. 

"  That  all  you  see  in  her,  my  friend  ?  " 

"No,  not  all,  sir.  I  like  her  immensely;  she  has 
both  power  and  charm.  How  came  she  by  that  scar 
on  her  forehead  ?  " 

"A  little  mule  in  the  village  which  wouldn't  let  any- 
one ride  it ;  must  take  it  into  her  head  to  tame  it  —  used 
to  be  a  regular  tom-boy,  got  on  it  barebacked,  the 
thing  threw  her  off,  and  kicked  her  there." 

''  Well,  she  seems  nice  and  healthy  But  the  English 
have  no  instinct  for  dress.  Why  on  earth  should  she 
wear  her  hair  brushed  back  in  that  fashion  ?  " 

"  Free  country,  sir.  By  the  way,  are  you  in  love  with 
the  Honorable  Edith  Cardew  ?     I  have  noticed  you  —  " 

"I  may  have  thought  of  undertaking  her  conquest, 
sir;  it  is  my  habit  to  be  in  love,  but,  frankly,  Norfolk 
is  not  rich  in  seductions  of  that  sort.  I'm  afraid  I 
must  announce  my  departure,  sir.  I  came  for  a  week, 
and  have  been  here  perhaps  months  now,  kept  by 
your  own  good  company,  and  Miss  Kathleen's  perfect 
accompanying.     She  is  among  the  virtuosi." 

'  You  are  not  —  er  —  taken  with  Miss  Hannah 
Langler,  I  see,  sir." 

'Taken?  But  stay,  stay:  didn't  you  once  write  me 
something  about  marrying  some  one,  sir?  and  wasn't 
this  very  Hannah  Langler  the  lady  in  question  ?  It 
ivas  so.  I  have  often  wondered  what  brought  me  to 
this  corner  of  the  world;  it  was  that!  You  promised 
me  some  thousands  of  pounds  a  year." 

[21] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Well,  I've  heard  of  the  musician  Beethoven  for- 
getting his  own  name,  and  you  are  almost  as  bad. 
You  can't  think  much  of  money,  sir?" 

"On  the  contrary,  sir,  I  admire  gross,  handsome 
sums  of  money  to  an  extent  that  might  be  called  a 
weakness;  I  am  supposed  to  be  a  spendthrift,  but  I 
throw  away  only  silver:  I  am  pound  wise,  but  shilling 
foolish." 

"So,  if  you  married  Miss  Langler,  it  would  be  for 
the  money  only  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see.  You  know,  sir,  that  on  the  Continent 
marriages  are  commercial  contracts,  and  that  I  have 
a  Continental  mind;  but  it  should  not  be  difficult  to 
me  to  get  fifty  wives  with  far  larger  dowries  than  some 
few  thousand  pounds  a  year;  so  that,  if  I  married  Miss 
Langler,  it  would  be  partly  for  the  money,  partly  to 
make  myself  agreeable  to  a  wish  of  my  good  Uncle 
Peter,  partly  because  the  lady  is  rather  pleasing  to  my 
fancy,  and  partly  because  I  don't  consider  the  matter 
of  great  importance." 

"That  ends  it,  then,  that  ends  it;  you  take  the 
wrong  tone,  sir,  in  speaking  of  that  lady,"  said  Sir 
Peter,  sniffing  one  of  his  dried  apples  quickly  with 
alternate  nostrils.  "If  you  think,  because  you  can 
scrape  fiddles  —  " 

"What  horror,  sir;  you  know  nothing  about  bowing; 
one  does  not  scrape,  one  strikes  —  " 

"Hence  the  term  fiddlesticks,  sir,"  said  Sir  Peter. 
"  I  say  that  if  you  think  you  would  do  Hannah  Langler 

[22] 


The  Lost  Viol 

an  honor  in  marrying  her,  then  you  shall  lose  her, 
Chris.  My  proposal  to  you  arose  solely  from  my  wish 
to  do  a  great  kindness  to  my  sister's  son  —  but  I 
despair  of  making  a  fellow  like  you  understand  what 
you  get,  if  you  get  her;  will  have  to  teach  you  that  her- 
self in  time.  I  know  her;  have  watched  her  twenty 
odd  years;  and  if  you  love  not  only  a  bright  companion, 
but  a  most  faithful  hand  on  your  head  when  it  aches, 
will  love  her.  I  fancy  she's  taken  with  you,  fancy  so, 
she  can't  hide  much  from  me,  and  in  that  case  you  are 
in  luck's  way.  And  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  in  mar- 
rying her  you  marry  no  farmer's  daughter,  but  a  lady 
of  ancient  lineage  and  high  race  — " 

"  Ah,  I  thought  there  was  some  mystery  — " 
"  Not  much  mystery.  I'll  tell,  on  the  understanding 
that  herself  nor  any  one  ever  learns  facts  from  you. 
Her  father  was  an  old  friend  of  mine "  — -  Sir  Peter 
meant  himself,  for  none  but  him  was  Hannah's  father 
—  "  who  married  a  farmer's  daughter,  and  had  this 
child  by  her.  My  friend's  father  was  a  baronet,  alive 
at  the  time  of  the  marriage,  marriage  had  to  be  kept 
secret,  and  five  months  after  child's  birth  its  mother 
died,  leaving  child  on  its  father's  hands.  Well,  my 
friend  knew  a  farmer-couple  named  Langler  in  Devon- 
shire, worthy  people,  who  were  childless,  and  deciding 
to  bring  up  his  child  in  the  social  status  of  its  mother, 
status  which  he  always  considered  by  far  the  best,  he 
fixed  upon  these  Langlers;  offered  to  buy  their  Devon- 
shire farm  from  them,  and  to  give  them  instead  the 

[23] 


The  Lost  Viol 

large  farm  they  now  have  here,  together  with  an 
annuity,  on  condition  that  they  took  little  Hannah, 
and  let  it  be  understood  in  new  county  that  she  was 
their  own  child.  All  this  arranged  by  lawyer's-letters, 
and  to  the  present  old  couple  don't  know  who  is 
Hannah's  father,  though  they  may  suspect,  may  sus- 
pect. That,  at  any  rate,  is  all  the  mystery;  baronet's 
daughter  instead  of  farmer's." 

"  That  makes  her  all  the  more  interesting,  sir,"  said 
Chris.  "I  must  take  the  matter  seriously,  I  see.  It 
might  produce  a  rather  eccentric  and  pretty  effect,  an 
English  country-girl  for  one's  lawful  wife  " 


[24] 


CHAPTER  III 

This  thing  seemed  to  stick  in  Chris  Wilson's  vague 
memory,  for  three  days  later  he  put  his  cloth  hat  on 
his  curls,  and  took  a  stroll  to  Woodside,  where  he 
begged  Mrs.  Langler  to  take  him  to  Hannah,  was  led 
upstairs  to  the  foot  of  a  ladder  which  he  climbed,  then 
stooped  through  an  opening,  and  found  Hannah  in  a 
sweet-smelling  loft  among  festoons  of  apples,  thyme, 
and  marjoram.  She  let  slip  a  cry  on  seeing  him, 
rather  vexed,  and  quickly  let  down  her  skirt  which 
had  been  pinned  up  in  front. 

"  Charming,  this  place,"  said  Chris,  panting. 

"Can't  shake  hands,"  said  Hannah.  "How  on 
earth  came  you  up  here,  so  near  heaven?" 

"Near  Hannah,"  said  Chris,  sitting  on  a  tub. 

"Oh!  a  man  may  not  flirt  with  his  grandmother  in 
aloft!" 

"  But  I  have  come  expressly  to  court  you." 

'You  mayn't  find  that  all  milk  and  honey,  even  so 
high  up!  I  could  lock  you  up  nicely  in  here  till  you 
had  done  every  scrap  of  this  work.  I  am  pretty  ruth- 
less, too,  if  I  take  a  thing  into  my  head." 

"Provided  you  lock  yourself  in,  too." 

[25] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Ah  me,  how  Somebody  finds  mischief  still.  You 
had  no  right  up  here,  Mr.  Wilson." 

"You  called  me  Chris  last  night." 

"Because  you  had  the  heroism  to  call  me  Hannah! 
But  give  him  an  inch  and  he  takes  an  ell,  of  course." 

"  L  is  for  Langler.     Shall  I  take  a  Langler  ?  " 

"His  Majesty  is  pleased  to  hunt  to-day." 

"I  find  you  admirable." 

"Do  you?  If  Miss  Edith  Cardew  —  but  I  won't 
utter  rashness  with  my  lips.  Come,  work  first  and 
play  after ;  help  me  with  these  artichokes  — " 

"You  would  not  be  jealous  if  you  were  not  in  love." 

"Who?" 

"You." 

"But  what  has  brought  him  here  this  day,  for  my 
sins  ?  I'd  as  soon  think  of  being  in  love  with  the 
Archangel  Israfil!  Well,  no  peace  to  the  wicked,  I 
suppose  —  must  just  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain." 

In  such  talk  they  spent  an  hour  up  there,  Chris 
murmuring  short  remarks  with  his  quiet  smile  and 
movements  of  the  eyebrows  which  said  for  him  most 
of  the  little  that  he  had  to  say,  till  he  dropped  the 
remark,  "  Seriously,  I  think  of  marrying,"  whereat  she, 
with  a  spin  towards  him,  said  quickly: 

"  Seriously  ?  of  marrying  Kathleen  ?  " 

"Some  one  else,"  said  Chris. 

"Ah,  well,  now  that  I  have  the  chance  I  am  going  to 
say  my  say  about  that.  You  don't  mean  any  harm, 
but  you  are  too  friendly  with  Kathleen,  you  know. 

[26] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Oh!  you  can't  dream  what  misery  you  may  be  making 
for  this  poor  girl,  Mr.  Wilson!  You  have  a  way,  for 
instance,  of  hanging  over  ladies  when  you  shake  hands 
in  a  sort  of  silent  rapture;  but  you  shouldn't  to  her. 
Oh,  my  heart  aches!  It  isn't  her  fault.  Promise  me 
this  now,  and  mean  it." 

"I  like  the  eyes;  nice  and  clear." 

"  Ugh !  it  is  no  good ;  he  can't  be  serious.  I'd  like 
to  —  beat  you ! " 

"Kathleen  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  I 
wish  to  marry  you." 

"Oh!  that  would  be  nice!  to  be  Mrs.  Fiddle!" 

"But  seriously." 

"How  many  strings  to  your  bow,  madame?  That 
would  be  nice!  With  bells  on  her  fingers,  and  bells 
on  her  toes,  she  shall  have  music  — ! " 

"  No,  but  seriously.     Will  you  ? " 

"But  you  should  not  say  such  things,  Chris,  O, 
you  should  not,  it  is  not  right  to  me  — ! " 

"But  don't  think  that  I  am  jesting.  My  Uncle 
Peter  and  I  have  even  spoken  together  of  it." 

"You  and  Sir  Peter  have  spoken  of  you  marrying 
me?" 

"Quite  true." 

At  this  Hannah  stood  silent  with  her  back  to  Chris, 
dashed  away  a  moisture  from  her  eyes,  then  with 
instant  swiftness  was  on  her  knees,  fondling  his  hands, 
saying,  "Don't  say  it,  if  you  don't  mean  it,  dear;  mine 
isn't  summer-love,  but  the  whole  silly  Hannah,  with 

[27] 


The  Lost  Viol 

her  heart  and  everything  thrown  in,  for  good.  If  you 
knew  how  I  have  prayed  to  be  saved  from  loving  you, 
for  you  are  like  water  slipping  through  one's  fingers; 
only  an  angel  could  have  and  hold  you.  Sometimes 
I've  longed  to  beat  you,  and  smash  all  the  fiddles; 
but  tell  me  once  in  my  ear  that  you  love  me,  that  you 
do  love  me — " 

Chris  smiled  with  little  nods,  meaning  "  yes,"  saying, 
"I  like  the  hair,  quite  a  burden  of  womanhood  here 
behind,  nice  and  fat,"  whereat  Hannah  leapt  up  with 
rather  a  sobbing  laugh,  saying  to  herself:  "It  will  be  a 
work  to  be  Mrs.  Fiddle,  I  know;  but  I'll  tackle  it 
gladly,  since  it  is  His  Will." 

His  Will!  But  while  some  marriages  are  made  in 
Heaven,  some  are  made  on  the  Continent,  and  this  of 
Chris  was  rather  of  this  latter  type.  Hannah,  however, 
could  dream  of  no  motive,  except  love,  in  the  mind  of 
Chris,  for  she  knew  nothing  of  Sir  Peter's  hand  in  the 
matter,  and  in  her  joy  believed  that  here  was  the 
heavenly  type.  When  Chris  returned  to  the  Hall,  he 
was  able  to  tell  Sir  Peter  that  Hannah  was  willing  to 
marry  him  within  four  weeks,  before  Chris  should 
quite  sicken  of  Norfolk. 

Hannah  had  been  on  the  point  of  becoming  a  London 
hospital-nurse,  but  all  that  was  changed  now.  No 
secret  was  made  of  the  affair,  and  the  countryside  was 
in  a  state  of  wonder;  old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Langler  pon- 
dered it  in  their  hearts;  the  quaint  maid  was  made  ill, 
and  when  she  heard  of  the  dowry  that  Sir  Peter  gave 

[28] 


The  Lost  Viol 

with  Hannah,  her  amazement  went  mad.  She  now 
understood  that  Sir  Peter  was  the  cause  of  all,  and  she 
was  as  angry  with  the  old  man  as  with  Hannah. 

Everything  was  made  ready  in  haste;  the  five  vil- 
lages round  Orrock  and  the  coast  forefelt  what  was 
coming;  great  things  were  in  the  air;  Woodside  no 
more  recognized  itself;  partridge-shooting,  dancing,  and 
guests  were  at  the  Hall,  hearing  strange  music  at 
night. 

All  this,  however,  was  upsetting  for  Sir  Peter,  who 
was  of  a  fretful  and  fidgety  build,  and  delicate  in  the 
chest.  Some  days  after  Kathleen  had  risen  from  her 
fever,  she  came  down  to  the  Hall,  and  found  the  old 
man  in  an  exhausted  sleep.  The  house-party  had  gone 
out  picnicking,  and,  hearing  this,  the  little  maid  had 
wandered  in  search  of  Sir  Peter  to  ply  him  with  ques- 
tions about  Chris  and  Hannah.  She  found  him  with 
some  documents  on  his  knees  breathing  in  sleep  among 
the  nine  thousand  volumes  which  made  the  fame  of 
Orrock;  and  she  made  long  steps  from  one  white 
bear-skin  to  another,  so  as  to  come  softly  to  him. 

The  thought  came  into  her  head,  "If  you  slept  on 
for  a  week,  our  wedding  would  have  to  be  put  off." 

Sir  Peter  was  in  a  nook,  with  an  oriel  window  on 
each  side  of  him.  Kathleen  softly  opened  a  leaf  of 
one  oriel,  and  looked  out  at  the  autumn  sunlight  on 
the  land.  "He  always  disliked  me,"  she  thought, 
"and  I  have  always  disliked  him  for  it.  Why  should 
they  dislike  me  ?     I  have  two  eyes,  one  nose,  like  human 

[29] 


The  Lost  Viol 

beings  —  perhaps  they  guess  that  I  am  myself,  the 
sole  of  my  kind,  and  that  there's  something  in  me  that 
rankles  and  is  at  war;  for  it  is  all  a  struggle  with  me 
somehow  to  hold  my  poor  head  above  water  —  a  weary 
thing,  God  knows.  Do  they  see  into  me  at  all  ?  I 
should  shriek  with  shame;  but  not  even  God  could 
quite  know  this  knot  of  nerves.  Then,  if  they  don't 
guess,  why  do  they  dislike  me,  and  make  me  hate  ? 
As  to  that  old  man  there!  I'll  look  out  through  that 
other  oriel  to  see  the  glass-houses." 

She  softly  opened  the  oriel  on  the  other  side  of  Sir 
Peter,  without  closing  the  first,  and  looked  out  anew, 
thinking,  "  There  is  quite  two  acres  under  glass  on  this 
side.  He  is  well  asleep;  that  isn't  my  fault  if  he  sleeps 
where  there  is  a  draught,  and  he  hasn't  had  asthma 
lately,  so  it  is  nothing,  and  not  my  fault.  What  could 
have  put  this  marriage  into  his  head  ?  By  what 
witchcraft  has  Hannah  Langler  enthralled  him  to  this 
extent?  He  has  a  lot  under  glass  over  here;  there 
must  be  a  dozen  gardeners.  Not  that  I  should  wish 
to  harm  any  one,  even  it  it  was  in  my  power.  But  oh ! 
how  I  am  trembling!" 

She  turned  inward,  and  without  closing  either  of 
the  windows,  fled  away  over  the  bear-skins.  She 
reached  home  in  such  a  state  of  panting  and  fever, 
that  she  had  to  be  put  to  bed,  while  Sir  Peter,  for 
his  part,  slept  on  an  hour  in  the  draft,  and  awoke 
hoarse.  The  next  morning  he  did  not  rise  from  bed; 
three  days  later  he  was  so  ill,  that  it  was  decided  that 

[30] 


The  Lost  Viol 

the  wedding  of  Hannah  and  Chris  must  be  put  off;  in 
a  week  it  was  given  out  by  the  doctor  that  Sir  Peter 
was  dying. 

It  was  in  this  state  of  affairs  that  old  Bentley  wrote 
the  news  to  the  baronet's  niece  and  "ward,"  Yvonne 
de  Pencharry-Strannik ;  and  on  the  ninth  evening  of 
Sir  Peter's  illness,  Kathleen,  walking  in  Orrock  Park, 
heard  a  voice  scream  out  "Kathleen!"  and,  looking 
round,  saw  a  chaise  with  two  women,  one  of  whom 
was  leaping  out  to  rush  to  her;  in  a  moment  she  was 
being  kissed  by  the  young  marquise,  Yvonne. 

"Yvonne!  you?"  cried  Kathleen. 

"It  is  I!     I  arrive  from  Paris,"  panted  Yvonne. 

'You  smell  of  Paris,  and  of  all  the  scent-bottles  on 
earth—" 

"Such  an  escapade,  my  dear!  I  arrive  alone  with 
my  chamber-woman,  in  order  to  see  our  uncle  who  is 
dying ;  is  it  not  that  I  am  good  ?  " 

"And  tall,  and  astonishing,  and  most  wonderfully 
pretty,  Yvonne!  It  is  four  years  since  — ■  You 
know,  of  course,  that  your  cousin,  Chris  Wilson,  is 
here?" 

'You  yourself,  wrote  you  not  to  me  of  it?  Am  I 
not  here?  therefore,  I  knew  it!" 

"The  darling  English  that  you  speak,  Yvonne! 
p'tite  jaseuse!  I  believe  I  could  never  be  jealous  of 
you,  you  are  too  much  like  a  bird-of-paradise." 

"Oh,  no  one  is  jealous  of  me,  my  dear,  I  have  too 
good  a  heart.     In  effect,  I  am  without  a  single  defect. 

[31] 


The  Lost  Viol 

I  am  rich,  I  am  free,  I  am  pretty,  and  I  have  a  good 
heart." 

"  Delightful  of  you  to  say  it !  Are  you  going  to  stay 
with  me  at  the  Hill  —  or  at  the  Hall  ?  " 

"  The  violinist,  where  stays  he  ?  " 

"At  the  Hall." 

"Then,  me  also,  I  stay  at  the  Hall." 

"  But  you  have  heard  that  he  is  to  be  married  ?  " 

"I  have  heard  it!  And  as  to  the  lady,  is  she  charm- 
ing? 

"A  yeoman's  daughter,  Yvonne  —  just  think!  — 
without  graces,  without  beauty.  It  is  such  a  scandal. 
You  have  just  come  in  time  to  rescue  Cousin  Chris, 
thank  Heaven." 

"Oh,  the  heavy  role!    I  only  play  in  comedy." 

"  But  you  will  do  this,  won't  you  ?  This  match  is 
all  through  Uncle  Peter,  who  has  taken  a  crack-brained 
fancy  to  the  girl,  and  is  giving  vast  sums  of  money 
with  her.  Remember  that  Chris  is  our  cousin,  and 
not  rich  like  you  and  me,  so  it  is  our  duty  to  rescue 
him  from  this  mercenary  person.  All  she  has  is  super- 
abundant health  and  a  back-bone  —  I  dislike  her. 
Besides,  you  are  about  to  fall  in  love  yourself,  for 
every  woman  at  once  says  of  him,  '  What  a  dear  boy ! ' 
He  looks  so  meek  and  demure,  yet  one  guesses  the 
wayward  fires  in  him  — " 

"Oh,  save  me  from  fires!  Chateaubrun  is  already 
purgatorial !  But  if  my  Uncle  Peter  dies,  Mr.  Wilson 
may  no  more  marry  — " 

[32] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Uncle  Peter  won't  die.  Ah,  I  couldn't  live  in 
England  afterwards."  The  little  maid  said  this  rather 
to  herself,  but  Yvonne,  hearing  it,  asked: 

'You  love  much,  then,  our  uncle,  my  poor  Kath- 
leen?" 

Kathleen  answered  by  asking:  "Aren't  you  afraid  of 
ghosts,  Yvonne?" 

"  Ghosts  ?  Not  at  all ! "  said  Yvonne.  "  In  France 
one  no  longer  believes  that  the  spirit  lives  after  death, 
my  dear." 

"  I  don't  either,  not  with  my  head,  but  I  do  with  my 
nerves;  I  know  that  there  are  no  ghosts,  but  I  live  in 
a  horrible  terror  of  them,  Yvonne." 

"My  little  cousin  droll  and  dear,"  murmured 
Yvonne.     "But  shall  we  go  farther?" 

"Droll  and  little  without  being  dear,"  thought 
Kathleen,  shrinking  on  a  sudden  like  the  sensitive 
plant. 

They  drove  through  the  darkling  park  together  to 
the  Hall,  before  which  they  found  a  knot  of  men,  Chris 
Wilson  among  them,  and  with  an  evil  eye  Kathleen 
saw  Chris  start  at  sight  of  Yvonne,  whom  he  had  never 
met  before,  and,  on  being  presented,  hang  over  her 
hand  in  a  rapture.  Chris  had  seen  nothing  French  or 
dazzling  for  months,  so  Yvonne  came  like  an  armed 
man  upon  him,  and  he  went  with  her  into  the  Hall 
with  quite  a  new  briskness  and  heat  in  him  (his  hair 
lifting  in  a  mass  at  each  step),  like  a  fresh  fizzing-up 
and  ado  in  stale-gone  champagne. 

[33] 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  Well,  is  he  a  dear  boy  ?  "  Kathleen  asked  Yvonne 
one  evening  in  her  laughing  way. 

"Of  my  part,  my  dear,"  answered  Yvonne,  who, 
being  in  England,  duly  spoke  in  Engleesh,  "  that  which 
I  repeat  to  myself  is  not  that  he  is  a  dear  boy,  but  that 
he  is  dear  to  another.  I  have  a  good  heart,  Kathleen, 
I  must  not  take  part  in  a  treason." 

The  quaint  maid,  standing  with  her  hat  on  beside 
Yvonne,  whose  yellow  hair  was  being  ondules,  said 
again,  "  But  is  he  a  dear  boy  ? " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  it  —  there !  Leave  me  tranquil," 
answered  Yvonne. 

"  Tranquillity  and  Chris  don't  live  in  the  same  parish, 
Yvonne." 

"Oh,  pas  tant  que  9a!"  went  Yvonne.  "And  is  not 
Miss  Langler,  of  her  part,  admirable  ?  Why,  you  told 
me  that  she  is  without  charm!  Me,  on  the  contrary,  I 
find  something  of  even  angel-like  in  her  eyes  which 
twinkle  and  smile,  and  in  a  certain  light  on  her  fore- 
head." 

"The  beauty  of  holiness  heightened  by  perspira- 
tion—" 

"Well,  for  me  she  is  beautiful  in  her  type,"  said 

[35] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Yvonne.  "And  her  devotion  to  the  bedside  of  our 
Uncle  Peter!  No  one  would  imagine  that  she  has  a 
lover  whom  she  adores.  Miss  Praed  has  told  me  that 
during  three  days  and  nights  she  will  not  once  sleep, 
and  still  remains  gay  and  fresh;  what  a  Britannic 
physique ! " 

"  And  if  you  want  to  make  her  your  slave  for  life,  just 
tell  her  'How  splendid  and  strong  you  are,  Hannah!' 
She  is  vainer  of  it  than  a  coquette  of  her  dresses.  How- 
ever, it  is  not  her  business  to  nurse  Uncle  Peter,  there 
are  the  proper  nurses;  but  Hannah  knows  where  her 
nest  is  feathered." 

"  No,  she  is  not  mercenary,  my  dear,  I  am  sure  of  it. 
But  a  little  jealousy  is  the  salt  of  country -life,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  You  should  be  jealous ! "  said  the  little  maid  with 
lightning  eyes. 

"And  why?" 

"Isn't  there  some  danger?  Do  be  careful,  dear. 
Chris,  I  can  see,  likes  her  racy  bell  of  a  tongue  with 
its  touch  of  buffoonery,  and  her  warm-hearted  moods 
and  changes.  While  she  is  away  from  everything  at 
Uncle  Peter's  bedside,  you  should  be  specially  killing  — 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  my  dear,  let  neither  Miss  Langler 
nor  you  have  any  delusions,"  said  Yvonne.  "It  is 
only  because  I  have  a  good  heart." 

"  That's  where  to  fire  her,"  thought  Kathleen  —  "  in 
her  sense  of  another  woman's  rivalry:  she  is  more 
emulous  than  she  is  lovesick." 

"There!  it  is  finished,"   said   Yvonne  before  the 

[36] 


The  Lost  Viol 

mirror.  "Is  it  not  that  I  am  charming  to-night? 
Let  us  descend." 

All  day  Yvonne  would  lie  torpid,  like  a  Spanish 
woman,  but  began  to  brighten  up  before  dinner,  and 
shone  out  at  night  like  a  moon,  dimming  every  star. 
Then  would  be  the  feast  of  music  in  an  old  drawing- 
room,  with  a  gallery  and  a  chimney-piece  made  of  the 
figures  of  Alchemy,  Astronomy,  Justice,  and  Truth, 
Hannah  at  such  times  being  mostly  absent  with  Sir 
Peter,  who  had  twice  rallied  and  twice  got  worse;  but 
one  night,  stealing  into  the  drawing-room  and  sitting 
apart  in  shadow  with  a  long  cloak  on,  she  saw  and 
heard  what  put  her  into  a  heavy  mood.  Chris  and 
Yvonne  were  sitting  together,  and  Kathleen  playing 
a  polonaise;  when  Kathleen  rose,  Chris  said  to  her, 
"Now,  you  played  that  with  great  fancy  and  virtu- 
osity," whereat  she  made  a  mock  courtesy,  and  glanced 
round  to  see  what  everyone  was  thinking  of  her. 
Yvonne  then  said,  "  Chris  wishes  that  I  play  with  him  a 
duet  of  Spohr,  Kathleen,  if  you  will  accompany  us," 
to  which  Kathleen  answered  "  Certainly,"  trying  to  dry 
her  palms  in  her  already  wet  little  handkerchief,  for 
these  evenings  with  Chris  were  to  her  like  the  hours 
which  go  before  a  death  on  the  scaffold,  fierce  with  an 
inward  excitement  which  was  betrayed  by  her  sweating 
palms  and  the  blaze  in  her  eyes. 

The  three  cousins,  Chris,  Kathleen,  and  Yvonne, 
then  moved  to  the  piano,  Yvonne  with  Chris's  Nicolo, 
and   Chris  with  his  loud   Bcrgonzi.     Hannah's  eyes 

[37] 


The  Lost  Viol 

smiled  with  pleasure  upon  the  smart  movements  of 
Yvonne's  body  and  right  elbow,  even  while  the  music 
that  streamed  from  Chris  brought  a  tear  to  her  cheek. 
Some  genteel  hand-clapping  went  round  when  it  was 
finished;  and  as  the  three  cousins  sat  again,  Yvonne 
said:  "What  a  violin,  this  Nicolo!  Puff!  one  may  blow 
it  into  the  air;  it  is  nothing  but  a  soul  which  cries  out 
before  one  touches  it." 

"  Pity  it  lacks  power  in  the  G,"  said  Chris. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it,  Chris  ?  "  asked  Kathleen. 

"A  present  from  the  Baronne  Veszcolcza,  a  Hun- 
garian." , 

"Ah,  those  Hungarian  ladies!"  said  Yvonne  in 
French,  "they  know  how  to  give!" 

"And  take,"  said  Chris. 

"Are  you  going  to  stick  to  your  Nicolo  for  concert, 
Chris?"  asked  Kathleen. 

"Only  for  chamber-music.  I  want  to  get  a  Joseph 
del  Gesu." 

"  Rather  than  a  Strad  ?  " 

"  I  think  so;  more  carrying  and  masculine.  Paganini 
played  one,  which  I  have  seen  in  the  Genoa  town-hall 
blushing  like  an  angel." 

"Are  there  many  about?" 

"A  fair  number,  with  many  counterfeits;  but  you 
know  them  at  once  by  their  grim  scrolls." 

"  There's  a  theory  that  each  composer  is  suited  to  a 
certain  maker,"  said  Kathleen.  "Handel  to  a  Strad, 
Mozart  to  a  Maggini  — " 

[38] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Oh,  I  adore  Magginis!  so  full  and  plaintive,"  said 
Yvonne. 

"It  is  his  violas  that  count,"  remarked  Chris. 

"I  have  seen  one  in  London,"  said  Kathleen.  "A 
queer  thing  with  short  corners  and  upright  sound- 
holes." 

"Delicious  orange  varnish,"  said  Chris. 

"Sweet!  orange  and  golden;  and  such  purfling." 

"My  maternal  grandmother  brought  into  our  family 
a  viol  d'amore  with  seven  strings,"  said  Yvonne.  "At 
least,  they  say  it  is  a  viol  d'amore ;  oh,  so  quaint !  But 
one  can  induce  wonderful  arpeggios  from  it." 

A  fourth  person  now  joined  in  to  tell  of  another  viol 
d'amore  which  he  had  seen,  or  thought  that  he  had 
seen,  and  the  talk  went  on  about  makers  and  labels, 
Mittenwald  and  Cremona,  Joachim  and  Lulli,  and,  at 
last,  about  how  Calve  plays  Carmen  and  how  Coquelin 
plays  Cyrano,  till,  dropping  into  French,  it  became 
doubly-Dutch  to  Hannah  in  her  shadow  under  an  old 
gallery;  and  sitting  there  with  her  chin  on  her  palm, 
she  became  ever  more  grave,  thinking:  "What  part 
could  you  take,  Hannah,  in  all  that  chatter?  Oh,  I 
see  it  more  every  day;  it  will  be  a  work  to  be  Mrs. 
Fiddle!  I  shall  have  to  screw  all  that  into  my  hard 
nut  if  I  am  to  keep  him  a  year.  But  there's  nothing 
like  venturing;  it  shall  be  done.  French  first,  then 
music  from  A  to  Z."  She  got  up  and  stole  away 
through  a  little  Gothic  door  as  quietly  as  she  had 
come  in. 

[39] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Just  then  Chris  was  murmuring  to  Yvonne:  "Nice 
moonlight,  I  see;  I  might  take  you  out  to  the  cliffs." 

Yvonne's  eyes  mused  upon  him  in  a  certain  French 
way,  and  her  lips  formed  the  word  "  No,"  with  a  smile. 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  he;  "we  are  now  in  England, 
not  in  France." 

"But  I  am  French." 

"Kathleen  might  come." 

"In  that  case,  perhaps.  I  wish  first  to  go  to  my 
Uncle  Peter's  room,  and  I  may  bring  back  Miss 
Langler  to  go  with  us!" 

But  at  Sir  Peter's  door  Yvonne  learned  that  Hannah 
was  not  in  the  house.  "I  have  forced  her  out  for  a 
breath  of  air,"  said  one  Miss  Praed,  a  nurse;  "she 
will  not  be  back  till  one  o'clock." 

"  Is  he  better  now,  my  uncle  ?  "  asked  Yvonne. 

"Yes,  I  thing  it  will  be  all  right  now.  But  two 
hours  ago  it  was  touch-and-go  with  him,  I  can  tell 
you.  The  doctor  said  that  he  wouldn't  live  through 
the  night.  Miss  Langler  got  on  the  bed  with  him 
again,  and  kept  breathing  into  his  mouth." 

"  But  what  could  that  do  to  him  ?  " 

"What  good?  I  don't  know.  She  said  that  she 
felt  impelled  to  act  in  that  way.  Certainly,  he  rallied 
wonderfully  after  it,  and  this  is  the  second  time,  too. 
Chance,  perhaps." 

"Well,  tell  her,  will  you,  when  you  see  her,  that  I 
came  to  see  if  she  wished  to  go  out  with  me  and  my 
two  cousins,"  said  Yvonne,  and  ran  off  to  get  ready. 

[40] 


The  Lost  Viol 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  a  full  hunter's-moon  was  abroad 
in  the  sky,  and  there  could  be  no  stranger  stillness  than 
that  in  which  the  country  slept,  nothing  stirring  any- 
where save  ground-game,  a  squirrel  in  the  fir-wood,  or 
the  white  owl  on  a  well  in  the  courtyard  of  some  old 
gabled  farmhouse.  Without  knowing  it,  the  three 
cousins  chatted  and  laughed  in  lower  voices,  the  moon 
and  the  earth  were  in  such  an  elfin  tryst.  They  passed 
by  Woodside,  lying  dark  but  for  one  gleam  among  its 
old  trees,  then  up  the  lane  by  cottages  of  cobble,  with  the 
mill-house  and  the  lighthouse  on  the  right  and  left.  But 
when  they  came  under  the  group  of  Spanish  chestnuts 
before  St.  Peter's  churchyard,  and  could  see  yonder  the 
ruined  tower  where  drowned  sailors  are  laid,  the  little 
maid  was  for  hanging  back,  not  liking  graves  and  dead 
people,  nor  had  they  gone  ten  steps  further  when  she 
turned  white,  and  whispered  "  What  is  that  ?  "  to  Chris. 

Chris  could  see  only  the  graves  in  their  grasses  and 
poppies,  and  one  ghost-ship  becalmed  where  the  moon- 
shine gloated  upon  the  sea,  till  Kathleen  whispered 
again,  "  There!"  and  he  now  saw  at  one  point  among 
the  grasses  a  shade  like  a  sitting  form.  Wishing  to  be 
brave,  he  whispered  to  the  ladies,  "You  wait  here," 
and  alone  went  forward. 

When  he  had  got  near  enough  to  the  form  he  saw 
that  it  was  a  tall  woman  seated  in  the  grass  in  a  hooded 
cloak,  with  her  back  toward  him;  just  then  she  was 
gazing  up  into  the  sky,  speaking  aloud  to  herself,  and 
he  heard  the  words: 

[41] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Who  God  possesseth  in  nothing  is  wanting, 
Alone  God  sufficeth  "; 

Immediately  afterwards  she  melted  into  tears,  repeating 
the  same  words  with  her  brow  on  a  gravestone,  and 
was  so  taken  up  with  her  thoughts,  that  Chris  was  able 
to  lay  his  lips  on  her  hand  before  she  saw  him. 

"  Why,  it  is  you ! "  said  Hannah,  leaping  up.  "  I  was 
just  preparing  for  a  tussle  with  a  ghost." 

"Extraordinary  to  find  you  here,"  said  Chris. 

"Oh,  I  often  sit  out  here  late  at  night.  This  slab 
here  covers  the  brick  grave  of  your  mother's  family; 
so  here  Sir  Peter  will  come  some  day,  and  you  perhaps, 
Chris,  and  I,  too,  now,  no  doubt,  after  we  have  had 
our  fling.  Meanwhile,  it  isn't  a  bad  thing  sitting  out 
on  graves.  If  they  make  you  cold  below,  they  warm 
you  up  above.  I've  heard  'em  say  some  things,  I  can 
tell  you." 

Chris  laughed  at  her  lively  tongue  —  as  near  laughter 
as  he  ever  got. 

"  But  how  came  you  here  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Am  I  to 
flatter  myself  that  you  followed  me  from  the  Hall  ? 
Say  yes." 

"No;  I  came  with  Kathleen  to  see  the  moonlight. 
Yvonne  came,  too." 

"  Ah,  there  they  are.  Let's  all  run  down  to  the  sands 
and  have  a  good  romp." 

"  But  have  you  had  any  sleep  ?  " 

"Oh,  I'll  sleep  to-morrow  or  some  time.  Never  say 
die  when  Shuck  and  all  the  fairies  are  about.     Look, 

[42] 


The  Lost  Viol 

you  can  even  read  the  names  on  the  gravestones,  the 
moon  stares  so,  like  a"  big  baby  let  loose  in  a  bazaar." 
The  other  two  now  came  up,  and  all  went  downward 
by  a  path  on  the  cliff-side.  Yonder,  along  the  cliffs, 
was  to  be  seen  the  spot  where  Mrs.  Dawe's  cottage 
had  been  carried  away  by  the  landslip  a  year  before, 
when  Hannah  had  rescued  Willie  Dawe  from  the 
waves,  and,  ever  vain  of  her  mannish  feats,  Hannah 
wished  now  that  Kathleen  would  mention  this  to  Chris ; 
but  the  little  maid  was  mum  as  to  that  and  everything 
in  this  neighborhood  of  graves.  At  one  place  they 
could  see  a  strange  thing  —  coffin-ends  sticking  out 
from  the  cliffside,  and  when  Chris  asked,  "What  are 
those  things?"  Hannah  answered,  "Coffins!  All  this 
coast  is  going,  you  know;  every  year  the  sea  wears 
away  a  bit,  like  a  cake  of  soap  left  in  a  tub  of  water. 
So  many  a  poor  corpse  that  died  on  its  bed  round  about 
has  found  in  the  end  a  watery  grave." 


[43] 


CHAPTER  V 

"  Well,  it's  all  over,"  said  old  Mrs.  Dene,  the  house- 
keeper, only  nine  days  after  that  moonlit  midnight  in 
the  churchyard  and  on  the  sands.  "And  it  has  been 
like  a  whirlwind,  hasn't  it?  Perhaps  one  may  have  a 
little  peace  now." 

"Hasn't  Sir  Peter  been  splendid?"  answered  Miss 
Praed,  the  nurse.  "To  think  that  only  ten  days  ago 
he  lay  at  death's  door,  and  there  he  is  now  in  his  white 
waistcoat,  looking  as  hard  and  dry  as  a  pebble." 

"But  he  doesn't  believe  that  his  recovery  will  last 
long,"  said  Mrs.  Dene,  "  and  I  believe  that  that's  why 
he  insisted  on  hurrying  on  the  wedding.  Well,  it  has 
been  a  trying  time  for  us  all.  My  dear,  you  can't 
realize  the  strangeness  of  this  marriage,  not  being  one 
of  us.     To  me  it  is  like  some  great  dream  — " 

"But  why  so  strange?  They  make  a  fine  match," 
said  Miss  Praed.  "  He  just  wanted  some  one  like  Mrs. 
Wilson  to  keep  him  in  order  — " 

'  Yes ;  but  if  you  had  told  me  four  months  ago  that 
some  day  Hannah  Langler  might  come  to  the  Hall  to 
eat  her  wedding  breakfast,  I  should  have  thought  you 
crazy !  It  is  true  that  Sir  Peter  always  had  a  sneaking 
liking  for  her;  used  to  whisper  into  her  ear,  'Well, 

[45] 


The  Lost  Viol 

uglier  than  ever,  I  see '  —  he  said  it  to-day  again,  I 
think,  as  they  were  sitting  to  the  breakfast  —  but  those 
were  about  the  only  words  he  addressed  to  her  for 
years.  She  used  to  bring  round  a  special  pound  of 
butter  every  three  days,  but  seldom  saw  Sir  Peter, 
though  I  have  caught  him  prying  after  her  from  a 
library  window.  At  any  rate,  no  one  could  possibly 
have  foretold  all  this  sudden  —  And  yet,  do  you  know, 
Hannah  has  latterly  been  receiving  rich  birthday  pres- 
ents from  some  mysterious  quarter?  Perhaps  Sir 
Peter  —  I  don't  know  what  to  think ! " 

"But  what  a  jolly  bride!"  said  Miss  Praed.  "Be- 
tween-maid  Jane  says  that  early  this  morning  you  could 
hear  her  clear  voice  singing  hymns  a  mile  from  Wood- 
side.  Did  you  notice  her  cry  once,  though,  during  the 
service  ?  " 

"  Did  she  cry,  really  ?  " 

"  Aye,  she  did  —  was  going  to,  anyway  —  he  was 
just  putting  on  the  ring  —  and  I  saw  her  face  work, 
but  she  made  a  fight  for  it,  and  pulled  through  dry- 
shod." 

"And  hasn't  she  been  blooming  ever  since,  to  be 
sure ! " 

"  Hasn't  she  ?  I  followed  her  out  when  she  went  to 
the  villagers'  marquee;  she  sat  at  one  of  the  tables, 
and  in  five  minutes  had  the  lot  of  them  in  fits  of  laughter 
at  her  jokes  and  stories.  She  is  a  wonderful  mimic 
and  romp." 

"Always  was.     But,  between  us,  isn't  our  highly- 

[46] 


The  Lost  Viol 

gifted  bridegroom  just  a  little  —  how  shall  we  put  it 
—  absent-minded  ?  " 

"It  strikes  me  that  Mr.  Wilson's  eyes  have  been 
following  another  woman  more  often  than  his  wife 
to-day!"  said  Miss  Praed,  bluntly. 

'The  marquise  has  looked  sweet,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted," said  Mrs.  Dene.  "  What  a  costume !  and  her 
manners  have  a  certain  absolute  bouquet,  to  which,  I 
think,  none  of  our  ladies  ever  attains:  there's  an  equal 
distinction  in  each  case,  but  mademoiselle's  has,  be- 
sides, a  naturalness,  an  easy  worldliness  —  the  differ- 
ence between  very  old  wine  and  wine  not  so  old.  One 
can't  blame  the  men:  I've  wanted  to  take  her  in  my 
arms  myself." 

"But  a  man  should  be  in  love  with  his  bride,"  said 
Miss  Praed.  "I'd  just  like  to  give  the  genius  a  piece 
of  my  mind  in  some  quiet  spot!  I  had  a  suspicion  of 
something  before,  but  to-day  it  was  as  plain  as  a 
pike-staff.  And  his  poor,  dear  bride,  for  all  her  sharp 
eyes,  quite  unconscious  of  everything!  Oh,  it  puts  me 
in  a  rage!" 

"And  what  a  day  of  mishaps,"  added  Mrs.  Dene, 
"all  through  our  gifted  bridegroom.  First,  the  lack 
of  a  frock-coat,  then  the  forgotten  ring,  then  the  missing 
of  the  train  —  " 

The  two  gossips  drew  back  from  a  rush  of  dancing 
couples  sweeping  past  them.  The  married  pair  had 
started  off  on  their  honeymoon  at  four-thirty,  but  half- 
way to  the  station  had  turned  back  when  Hannah's 

[47] 


The  Lost  Viol 

watch  showed  that  the  train  must  be  already  gone 
—  this  lateness  being  due  to  the  violinist's  practise 
after  the  "breakfast,"  for  five  hours'  practise  a  day 
was  his  habit,  and  for  lack  of  it  he  had  felt  like 
a  fish  out  of  water,  wedding  or  no  wedding:  so  he 
had  missed  his  train,  as  fiddlers  do;  and  when  the 
carriage  came  back  amid  laughter,  the  evening  had 
been  turned  into  a  romp-ball,  many  of  the  guests  stay- 
ing on. 

Mrs.  Praed  and  Mrs.  Dene  were  still  deep  in  their 
gossip  when  Kathleen  in  pink  crepe  came  making  her 
way  among  the  dancers,  to  ask  Mrs.  Dene  if  she  knew 
where  Yvonne  was.  Yvonne  was  out  on  a  balcony 
among  some  men,  and  out  there  Kathleen,  taking  her 
aside,  said  at  her  ear:  "Yvonne,  Chris  pleads  for  one 
last  word  with  you." 

"Kathleen,  I  cannot,"  was  the  sad  answer. 

"  He  is  pacing  about  a  corridor  up  there  like  one  out 
of  his  mind.  We  can't  let  him  suffer  like  that,  dear. 
He  says  he  didn't  realize  that  he  really  loves  you  till 
this  afternoon  when  you  pinned  the  flower  in  his  coat 
and  he  smelled  your  hair,  and  he  says  that  music  will 
be  hateful  to  him,  if  you  don't  do  something  to  cool 
his  fever.  Grimani  tells  me  that  he  has  dashed  down 
his  Nicolo,  and  broken  one  of  the  blocks.  A  boy  is  a 
strange  mechanism,  Yvonne,  and  this  is  the  wildest 
and  dearest  of  them  all.  Come.  Won't  you  have  pity 
on  poor  Cousin  Chris  ?  " 

"  Alas,  my  dear,  what  can  I  do  there  ?  "  said  Yvonne 

[48] 


The  Lost  Viol 

with  a  sad  naivete.  "I  too  am  enamored,  and  what 
may  not  happen  if  I  go  to  him  ?  " 

"Never  mind,  only  come,  and  leave  the  rest  to 
Providence." 

"And  this  is  his  day  of  marriage,  mon  Dieu,  mon 
Dieu !     Where,  then,  is  his  wife  at  present  ? " 

"Wife,  indeed!  If  she  is  his  wife,  it  is  you  who 
are  to  blame,  Yvonne,  for  I  warned  you.  Why,  she 
isn't  even  jealous  of  you;  she  thinks  that  he  is 
hers—" 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  no  woman  has  the  right  to  be  so 
unconscious!  But  if  I  go,  it  is  on  the  condition  that 
you  assist  at  the  interview,  Kathleen." 

"  Come,  then." 

But  no  sooner  had  they  come  to  Chris,  than  Kathleen 
left  Yvonne  with  him,  though  she  hid  behind  the 
pedestal  of  a  statue  near  enough  to  hear.  The  corridor 
was  dim,  but  still  the  meeting  there  was  most  impru- 
dent, seeing  that  in  a  bedroom  not  twenty  yards  away 
old  Mrs.  Langler  was  busy  round  Hannah,  putting  her 
in  a  gown,  packing,  hinting,  fussing,  with  the  tears  and 
petty  ministries  of  mothers  at  such  a  time.  It  was 
near  eleven  o'clock.  In  the  morning  Chris  and 
Hannah  were  to  depart  for  the  Continent. 

The  French  "interview,"  meantime,  went  on  in  the 
corridor,  Yvonne  touching  her  eyes  with  her  handker- 
chief, her  face  turned  from  Chris,  he  in  a  grande  passion, 
pleading,  while  the  little  maid  peeped  with  an  evil  eye. 
To  most  things  that  Chris  said  Yvonne  replied  ruefully : 

[49] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"But  your  wife,  mon  ami,  your  wife.  I  have  a  good 
heart." 

"But  one  is  not  expected  to  be  in  love  with  one's 
wife ! "  cried  Chris.  "  Certainly  not  on  the  first  day  of 
marriage!  I  do  her  no  wrong:  it  is  the  custom  of  the 
world,  except  in  this  quixotic  country  of  Quakers. 
Why  am  I  to  be  different  from  every  one,  merely 
because  my  parents  were  English  people?  /  am  not 
English—!" 

"  Oh,  but  she  is,  mon  ami.  She  expects  you  to  love 
her,  I  am  certain  of  it,"  said  the  rueful  Yvonne. 

"And  I  do  love  her  very  much,"  said  Chris.  "Dear 
excellent  girl !  But  as  a  wife  only,  not,  of  course,  as  a 
sweetheart.  How  can  I,  when  I  am  in  flames  for  you  ? 
At  least  give  me  some  hope.  Promise  to  see  me  in 
Paris." 

"  Mon  ami,  no  —  no,  mon  ami.  Oh,  Chris,  let  us 
love  henceforth  apart  and  in  silence,  carrying,  each  of 
us,  the  image  of  the  other  as  a  holy  and  sad  symbol  in 
the  soul." 

"  You  do  love  and  pity  me,  then,  Yvonne  ?  Tell  me 
how  much  you  pity  me,"  said  Chris. 

"Mon  ami,  you  know  well  that  I  love  you  with  all 
my  heart." 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  ?  How  can  I  sleep  to-night  ? 
How  am  I  to  practice  to-morrow  ?  I  seem  to  be  in  the 
greatest  trouble!  I  have  eaten  very  little.  Can't 
anything  be  done  for  a  poor  man  ?  " 

Yvonne's  cheeks  dimpled  into  a  smile.     "The  rem- 

[50] 


The  Lost  Viol 

edy  is  even  more  abstruse  than  the  disease  is  painful," 
she  said. 

"  Could  you  not  come  with  me  and  Hannah  on  our 
honeymoon  ?  "  asked  Chris.  "  You  could  come  in  our 
train  to-morrow  —  " 

"Heaven!  what  a  proposition,"  murmured  Yvonne, 
casting  up  her  eyes.  "You  see,  you  are  only  a  dear, 
spoilt  child.  No,  mon  ami,  I  must  go  now;  your  wife 
awaits  you,  Chris.  But  see,  since  my  woman's  heart 
is  weak,  I  give  you  one  proof,  the  last  forever." 
Holding  his  face  between  her  palms,  Yvonne  kissed 
him  with  a  tender  chastity  on  the  lips,  once  and  once 
again.  Chris  took  those  kisses  with  a  blessed  face,  and 
was  about  to  clasp  her,  but  her  caress  all  at  once  changed 
into  a  smart  escape  down  a  near  stairway,  whereat  he, 
left  alone,  leant  his  forehead  on  the  arras,  and  shed 
some  tears. 

Hannah,  meantime,  as  Yvonne  had  truly  remarked, 
awaited  her  husband  in  a  boudoir  of  the  suite  which 
the  married  couple  were  to  occupy  for  the  night.  She 
believed  that  he  was  still  at  the  ball,  and  wondered 
that  he  was  slow  in  coming,  for  he  had  said  that  he 
would  be  with  her  soon.  She  sat  on  a  footstool  in  a 
flowing  robe,  her  ears  on  the  alert,  thinking  that  this, 
then,  was  how  it  felt  to  be  a  married  woman.  All  that 
day  she  had  been  riding  on  some  dream-whirlwind  — 
she  saw  it  now,  looking  back  —  and  marriage  was  going 
up  in  a  balloon !  But  in  a  few  days  she  would  be  on 
good  old  terra  firma,  and  the  old  Hannah  once  more. 

[51] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Only  be  with  me,"  she  murmured,  "only  let  Thy 
strength  be  perfect  in  my  weakness." 

But  Chris  did  not  come.  Mrs.  Langler,  who  could 
not  be  got  rid  of  so  soon,  peeped  in  with  the  awful 
whisper,  "  Isn't  he  come  ?  " 

"He  will  soon  come,  mummie,"  said  Hannah. 

Ten  minutes  later  Chris  entered,  and  Hannah  was 
up  to  him,  saying:  "At  last!  They  have  hardly  let 
you  speak  ten  words  with  me  all  day.  But  now  I'm 
the  woman  in  possession.  Shall  I  lock  all  the  doors 
of  the  cage  ?  Shall  I  ?  But,  then,  how  will  the  dishes 
be  brought  in  ?     You  must  be  hungry  and  tired,  too." 

A  table  stood  laid  for  two  near  an  apple-wood  fire. 

"I  can't  eat,"  said  Chris  with  a  forlorn  smile,  kissing 
her  on  each  cheek. 

"  Oh,  I  have  set  my  mind  on  our  supper  for  two,  so 
it  must  be.  What  a  day  of  strain  —  the  fierce  light 
that  beats  upon  a  bride  —  I  don't  think  that  marriages 
should  be  so  public.  But  now  I  feel  in  a  nice  harbor, 
with  my  captain  on  board,  and  the  everlasting  hills 
round  about.  Say  that  you  will  eat  something,  and 
I'll  ring :  who  is  it  that  would  do  anything  to  please  me  ?  " 

"I,  I  think." 

"Cool  as  a  cucumber  with  eyebrows!  genius  gone 
weary!  but  so  dear,  so  dear." 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Hannah  ?  " 

"There,  he  asks  me  that.  It  is  the  one  duty  which 
I  perfectly  fulfil:  even  in  God's  delicate  scales  I  love 
you  as  much  as  I  ought  to." 

[52] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"You  are  very  good.  I'm  most  fond  of  you,  too. 
But  my  dear  girl,  I  am  enerve.  I  can't  feel  musically; 
I  am  hungry,  yet  can't  eat;  I  don't  seem  to  want  to 
smoke;  no  one  seems  to  know  what  to  do  for  me." 

Chris  threw  himself  upon  a  sofa,  and  Hannah, 
petting  his  hands,  said:  "You  want  a  good  sleep,  that's 
it;  we  won't  eat  anything,  then,  but  I  will  make  you  a 
nice  glass  of  syllabub,  and  put  you  to  bed ;  then  I  shall 
brush  your  hair  till  you  go  to  sleep,  and  watch  over  you 
all  night." 

"I  couldn't  sleep,  you  know.  I  seem  to  be  in  the 
greatest  trouble." 

"Trouble?" 

"Perhaps  the  good  people  oughtn't  to  have  made 
me  marry,  Hannah.  I  shall  probably  make  every  one 
unhappy.     I  have  begun  badly  already  —  " 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  Hannah  in  a  state  of  aston- 
ishment. Made  you  marry,  Chris  ?  How  have  you 
begun  badly  already?  If  you  mean  missing  the 
train  —  " 

"No,  don't  ply  me  with  questions.  You  are  the 
last  that  I  should  tell,  perhaps." 

At  this  Hannah  did  not  say  anything,  but  kissed  his 
hand,  took  off  his  boots  quickly,  ran  and  put  on  his 
slippers;  then,  sitting  again  on  the  footstool,  said, 
"Shall  I  make  the  syllabub  first,  or  will  you  tell  me 
first  ? " 

"  You  had  better  not  know,  perhaps,"  said  Chris. 

"Yes,   I   had,"   said   she,   "and  there's  no  way  of 

[  53  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

escape ;  you  are  hemmed  in  between  the  back  of  a  sofa 
and  a  curious  woman,  so  it  may  as  well  come  first  as 
last." 

"You  would  only  make  a  conjugal  scene,  and  give 
me  a  headache.  I  wish  I  was  in  Paris  or  somewhere. 
This  place  has  brought  me  into  foolish  embarrass- 
ments." 

"But  tell  me;  there's  nothing  like  making  a  clean 
breast  of  things;  tell  Hannah.  That's  what  I  am  for, 
you  know,  to  bear  everything  of  yours.  I'm  the  sea; 
you  can't  put  too  much  into  me.  I'll  either  bear  or 
swallow  the  lot.  Conjugal  scene  indeed!  I  am  such 
a  little  pet,  aren't  I  ?  That  is  just  why  I  can't  stand 
women,  because  they  are  all  so  puny  and  silly.  Come, 
better  tell.  I  can't  guess  —  yet  I  thought  I  knew  you 
all  through  —  " 

"I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  tell  you;  and  yet  it  might  be 
better,  for  I  suppose  you  will  find  out.  My  dear  girl, 
I  am  in  love." 

"  And  not  with  me  ?  " 

"My  poor— " 

"  Not  with  me,  Chris  ?  not  with  me  ?  on  my  wedding 
night?" 

"Oh,  I  am  most  sorry!" 

"  Why,  — "  her  head  bent  down  upon  Chris's  leg 
while  he,  murmuring  over  her,  kissing  her  hair  for 
some  time,  but  soon  changing  to  peevishness  again, 
said,  "  I  knew  that  you  would  make  a  scene." 

At  this  she  was  up  on  her  feet,  and  old  Mrs.  Langler, 

[54] 


The  Lost  Viol 

peeping  from  the  inner  room  on  hearing  a  river  of 
words,  saw  Hannah,  tall  and  bright,  striding  up  and 
down,  pouring  out  her  anger  against  some  "she": 
it  was  all  "  she  "  —  she  going  about  like  some  one  with 
the  measles,  spreading  mischief  and  vanity,  doing  evil 
continually  and  not  good  —  she  using  her  God-given 
beauty  and  trumpery  arts  as  a  poison,  not  as  a  medi- 
cine, of  life  —  and  so  on.  It  all  fell  upon  the  head  of 
the  poor  Yvonne,  who  had  done  her  best,  or  her  second- 
best,  to  be  good,  while  the  guilty  Chris  got  off  without 
any  blame.  Hannah  had  never  been  jealous  of 
Yvonne  —  for  strong  natures  are  little  given  to  jealousy 
—  but  at  once  now  by  a  flash  of  instinct  she  knew  that 
Yvonne  was  the  canker,  without  needing  for  Chris  to 
name  Yvonne. 

"It  is  not  Yvonne's  fault,"  Chris  managed  to  say 
in  the  midst  of  her  flow  of  words;  but  this  only  stung 
Hannah  the  more,  that  he  should  defend  Yvonne;  and 
"  Horrid  Frenchwoman ! "  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  bile 
now. 

But  in  the  very  middle  of  a  sentence  her  stream  of 
words  dried  up;  she  turned  to  a  window  and  stood 
there  some  minutes,  humming  to  herself,  playing  a 
tune  on  the  window-pane,  till,  with  sudden  swiftness, 
she  was  sitting  on  the  footstool  again,  saying  to  Chris, 
"Let's  shake  hands!" 

"We  are  friends  for  life  now,  Chris,"  said  she, 
"and  nothing  can  alter  that;  cut  me  into  ten  bits,  and 
in  each  bit  you'll  find  a  friend  cropping  up:  friends 

[55] 


The  Lost  Viol 

first,  and  other  things  after.  So  tell  me  everything, 
and  then  we  shall  know  how  to  go  on.  First  of  all, 
are  you  very  badly  in  love?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  am,"  answered  Chris  with  a  troubled 
brow.  "I  am  like  that,  I  suppose:  I  go  crazy  after 
things." 

"  That's  the  genius  maggot,  you  see.  But  ah,  Chris, 
an  ounce  of  good  conduct  is  worth  a  pound  of  genius, 
believe  me." 

"You  are  very  likely  quite  right.  Perhaps,  if  the 
truth  were  known,  I  am  not  at  all  worthy  of  you." 

"No,  don't  say  that  to  me,  dear:  it  is  because  of  my 
utter  unworthiness  of  you  that  this  has  come  about. 
But  what  I  want  to  know  is,  why  did  you  wish  to 
marry  me  in  the  first  place?  Did  you  love  me,  and 
then  change?  and  if  so,  oh,  why  didn't  you  give  me 
some  hint  of  it,  even  one  day  before  our  marriage? 
Then  I  should  have  saved  you." 

"My  Uncle  Peter  hurried  on  everything  so  bewil- 
deringly,"  answered  Chris;  "and  it  is  only  this  after- 
noon that  I  began  to  be  so  much  in  love." 

"Oh!"  cried  Hannah  with  a  laugh,  'only  this 
afternoon.'  It  is  the  Frenchwoman's  bridesmaid's 
dress  that  you  are  in  love  with!  I  believe  that  J  am 
the  true  love,  really.     Hers  is  only  passion,  not  love." 

"  What  difference  between  passion  and  love  ?  "  asked 
Chris.  "That  is  one  of  those  quixotic  phrases  which 
you  English  trot  out  so  confidently,  as  though  there 
were  the  least  reason  in  them.     Love  is  a  passion." 

[56] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Hannah,  "haven't  you  been  in 
love  like  this  before?" 

"  Never  half  so  seriously,  I'm  afraid." 

"You  have.  This  only  seems  more  serious  because 
it  is  the  last;  it  will  pass  in  its  turn,  and  the  everlasting 
Hannah  will  remain.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  Mrs. 
Simpson  in  the  village  and  her  son  ?  She  lives  apart 
from  her  husband,  and  her  son,  Fred,  a  ne'er-do-well 
working  at  Wardenham,  comes  to  see  her  once  a  month. 
So  the  first  time  he  came,  she  asked,  '  How  are  you 
going  ? '  and  when  he  answered  '  Grand,  mother,'  she 
said,  'Well,  better  go  and  tell  that  to  your  father,  I 
want  none  o'  you  here';  second  time  it  was  the  same, 
'  Grand,  mother,'  and  '  Go  to  your  father';  third  time  he 
said,  'I've  broke  my  arm,  mother,  and  lost  my  job.' 
'Well,  come  in,  boy,'  she  said,  'you've  got  nothing  for 
a  father  now,  but  a  mother's  gratis.'  Well,  that's 
Hannah,  gratis,  whenever  you  need  her,  as  you  will. 
But  meantime,  whose  side,  Chris,  do  you  mean  to 
take  in  the  fight  between  that  woman  and  me?" 

"Is  there  a  fight?" 

"To  the  death!" 

"Then  I  will  take  your  side,  if  you  tell  me  what 
you  wish.  But  be  sure  that  I  shall  never  cease  to  be 
in  love  with  Yvonne." 

"Oh,  I  shall  have  you  all  straight  in  three  weeks. 
You  would  cease  to-night,  if  I  showed  her  to  you  with 
her  hair  all  shaved  off.  So  you  must  help  me  by  prom- 
ising, firstly,  not  to  see  her  again  without  my  leave." 

[57] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"She  won't  let  me  see  her." 

"  Won't  she  ?  She  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself  for 
her  miserable  lack  of  self-restraint!  Yes,  she  will,  fast 
enough,  if  she  gets  the  chance.     So  promise  me  that." 

"Well,  I'll  try  to  keep  from  seeing  her." 

"  That's  a  brave.  You  see,  you  do  love  me,  or  you 
could  never  be  so  dear  and  good  to  me.  So  promise 
me,  secondly,  not  to  go  away  from  me.  Promise  me 
that.  Of  course,  we  can  only  live  together  on  a  footing 
of  friendship  —  " 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  part,  Hannah.  It  would 
be  most  awkward  —  " 

"It  will  be  awkward  for  us  both,  but  awkwardness 
is  always  the  wages  of  some  one's  kicking  over  the 
traces,  and  I  am  prepared  to  put  up  with  it,  if  you  will. 
I  foresee  that  that  will  be  best  all  round:  so  say  yes 
for  me." 

'Well,  perhaps  I  had  better  do  as  you  wish.  I 
believe  in  your  wisdom  and  goodness.  But  better  let 
me  think  it  out  first  for  myself.  Perhaps  I  could 
smoke.  I  will  put  on  my  boots,  and  walk  out  in  the 
park;  early  in  the  morning  we  will  talk  again.  You 
ought  to  go  to  bed,  I  suppose.  Oh,  I  am  in  the  greatest 
trouble  now,  on  both  our  accounts.  I  had  no  right  in 
this  place,  — "  etc.,  etc. 

'That  one  yonder  is  your  room,"  said  Hannah.  "I 
will  tell  Grimani  about  the  lights,  and  leave  the  syllabub 
on  this  table.  All  else  is  ready  for  you.  Good  night, 
Chris :  I  hope  for  better  —  " 

[58] 


The  Lost  Viol 

She  could  say  no  more,  and  his  back  was  hardly 
turned  when  all  her  strain  and  self-rule  tottered  and 
was  half  in  ruins.  Stumbling  to  the  frightened  Mrs. 
Langler,  she  said  in  a  weak  voice,  "  Mummie,  I  am 
not  well  to-night,"  and  gave  way  to  a  sob  on  the  old 
lady's  bosom. 

Chris,  meantime,  went  down  by  a  back  stair  to 
think  out  alone  the  question  of  parting  or  not  parting 
from  Hannah.  Down  there  in  a  shrubbery  stood 
Kathleen,  gazing  up  at  the  windows  of  the  married 
couple :  and  she,  seeing  Chris  come  out,  followed  behind 
some  way,  and  then  joined  him. 


[59] 


CHAPTER  VI 

In  that  doubly-locked  journal  of  hers  the  little  maid 
wrote  some  days  later: 

"I  was  hiding  on  the  wedding-night  near  those 
three  steps  at  the  chapel-side,  watching  to  see  the 
shadow  of  Chris  or  Hannah  pass  by  their  windows. 
It  was  after  eleven.  I  was  all  trembling  with  cold, 
but  enjoyed  the  suffering  in  that  physical  way.  For 
a  long  time  I  saw  nothing.  Lights  were  going  out 
here  and  there  in  the  windows.  Bentley  came  to 
the  door  opening  upon  the  little  courtyard  by  the 
housekeeper's  room,  shutting  up  for  the  night.  The 
guests  had  mostly  gone  to  bed.  One  could  still  see 
the  glare  on  Frean  Hill  of  the  wedding  bonfire. 
There  was  a  bright  half-moon,  and  a  frost.  Once  I 
saw  Hannah's  shadow  at  a  window;  she  must  have 
stayed  there  five  long  minutes.  How  I  wondered  and 
hoped  then !  Since  she  was  alone  there,  I  guessed  that 
she  had  found  out  everything  from  Chris's  manner, 
and  had  made  a  row.  I  prayed  from  my  heart  that 
he  would  leave  her  straight  away,  before  she  could 
have  the  triumph  of  sleeping  once  with  him.  What 
a  darling  thing  is  marriage,  after  all !  Those  windows 
were  to  me  the  windows  of  the  seventh  heaven,  from 

[61] 


The  Lost  Viol 

which  I  was  shut  out  in  hell.  Yes,  I  suffered.  But 
the  battle  is  not  to  the  strong,  but  to  the  fin. 

"After  seeing  Hannah  at  the  window,  I  waited  on 
about  fifteen  minutes,  when  the  door  which  Bentley 
had  just  bolted  was  undone,  and,  to  my  wonder  and 
joy,  out  came  Chris.  He  looked  strange  to  me  in  his 
frock-coat,  more  stout  and  heavy ;  his  hair  fell  rumpled 
over  his  shoulders,  he  had  no  hat,  and  was  smoking  a 
cigar.  I  thought  I  must  die  for  the  shocking,  slow 
thumps  of  my  heart.  But  I  would  not  let  him  out  of 
my  sight,  for  I  thought,  'I  have  him  now,  and  if  he 
ever  goes  back  to  Hannah,  I  must  in  truth  be  a  paltry, 
feeble  being.'  He  went  westward,  and  I  followed  till 
we  were  between  the  rhododendrons  and  Embree  Pond : 
then  all  at  once  I  found  myself  saying  to  him,  'Well, 
Chris,  this  is  not  well,  a  bridegroom  wandering  alone 
on  his  wedding  night.  I  am  so  sorry  for  you!  I 
assume  that  there  has  been  a  row.' 

"'Not  at  all,'  he  answered.  'I  have  told  Hannah 
everything,  but  she  took  it  beautifully.  I  am  most 
wretched,  Kathleen.  I  think  Hannah  the  most  perfect 
lady  I  ever  met.' 

"I  thought  to  myself,  'Present  company  not  ex- 
cepted ' ;  and  I  thought,  too :  '  He  would  soon  get  fasci- 
nated by  her  like  the  rest  of  them,  if  he  once  lived  with 
her.'  So  I  said:  'Yvonne  isn't  in  bed  yet;  shall  I  try 
to  induce  her  to  come  out  here  to  you  to  hold  another 
consultation  ? ' 

"'Do  you  think  she'd  come?'  he  asked  quickly. 

[62] 


The  Lost  Viol 

*  That  would  be  splendid  of  you !  But  then,  I  promised 
Hannah  not  to  see  her.' 

" '  But  surely,'  I  said,  '  that  is  no  promise,  to  promise 
the  impossible.  You  would  go  mad,  if  you  kept  it, 
for  I  know  men,  they  go  mad  if  they  don't  have  what 
they  want,  especially  geniuses  like  you.  People  think 
that  I  am  a  foreigner  in  the  world,  Cousin  Chris,  an 
outsider  who  can  make  only  purblind  guesses  at  the 
nature  of  others;  but,  really,  I  am  just  like  everybody 
in  every  respect,  though  it  is  sad  to  be  even  thought 
outside  the  pale.' 

"'Never  mind,  never  mind,'  said  he  twice,  patting 
the  hunch.  But  why,  why  should  I  have  said  all  that 
about  people  thinking  me  different  ?  It  was  so  dragged 
in!  He  must  have  guessed  at  once  that  it  is  I  who 
know  myself  to  be  different,  and  only  spoke  out  of  the 
fulness  of  my  own  heart;  and  when  I  said  'I  am  like 
everybody,  and  so  can  guess  their  nature,'  he  must 
have  thought  instantly,  'It  is  because  she  is  not,  that 
she  is  so  eager  for  me  to  think  that  she  is.'  And  to 
say  '  in  every  respect  like  every  one ' !  I  wonder  if  he 
thought  that  indelicate?  He  must  have  understood 
that  I  wished  to  reassure  him  as  to  my  completeness  in 
case  he  ever  wishes  to  marry  me.  Oh,  God,  how  I 
have  betrayed  myself  to  Chris  on  every  occasion,  if  he 
has  the  least  insight!  I  can't  help  it.  In  his  presence 
I  get  into  such  a  stew,  my  hands  become  like  wet  rags. 
I  say  out  the  first  thing  that  rises  to  my  tongue,  re- 
vealing to  him  my  inmost  nature,  and  then  I  hurriedly 

[63] 


The  Lost  Viol 

cover  up  my  blurtings  with  obvious  lies  and  half-lies 
and  turns  of  meaning;  and  afterwards  what  tortures 
in  grieving  over  every  word  that  I  have  said,  and  in 
seeing  too  late  what  I  might  have  said!  That  day 
when  I  drew  the  caricature  of  him  in  his  presence  in 
my  sketch-book,  shall  I  ever  cease  to  feel  the  bliss  and 
shame  of  it  ?  I  did  it  in  a  few  strong  lines,  and  he  took 
up  this  bony  hand  and  said,  'This  hand  has  craft;  you 
are  one  of  the  artists';  then,  slowly,  he  pressed  his  lips 
on  it.  Lord,  how  it  poured  from  every  pore  of  me. 
I  laid  my  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  fainted.  Oh, 
Chris,  what  did  you  think  of  me  then  ?  Did  you  not 
kiss  me  once  while  I  slept  in  you  ? 

'With  regard  to  his  promise  to  Hannah  not  to  see 
Yvonne,  I  said  to  him:  'But  you  should  not  help  a 
woman  for  whom  you  have  no  regard  against  Yvonne, 
who  loves  you  too.     Better  let  me  run  and  fetch  her.' 

"  At  this  he  got  into  a  sudden  temper,  dashing  down 
his  cigar,  and  crying  out,  'But,  good  God,  can't  you 
let  me  be  ?  I  tell  you  I  made  a  distinct  promise !  Do 
you  all  wish  to  drive  a  poor  man  m-m-mad  ? ' 

"I  was  so  startled,  that  all  I  could  find  to  say,  very 
foolishly,  was:  'This  is  all  due  to  Uncle  Peter.'  I  had 
no  wish  to  drive  a  poor  man  m-m-mad;  but  I  suppose 
he  was  irritated  by  my  tempting  him  to  do  what  he 
was  longing  to,  yet  could  not  do,  because  of  his  pledged 
word  to  Hannah.  He  seems  to  be  a  stickler  for  what 
he  would  call  'his  honor.'  Men  must  have  been 
originally  made  on  the  moon,  or  else  /  was. 

[64] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"'What  I  came  out  here  for,'  Chris  next  said,  'was 
to  think  out  alone  the  question  whether  I  am  to  live 
with  Hannah,  or  what  to  do.' 

'If  you  wish  to  be  alone,'  Chris,  you  have  only  to 
say  so,'  I  said. 

Mmm,'  he  went,  with  his  murmur  of  pitying  good- 
nature, 'my  own  dear  friend,  forgive  my  peevishness, 
and  stay  by  my  side,  I  beg.  You  see  what  a  plight  I 
am  in.  If  it  was  any  one  but  Hannah,  I  shouldn't  care 
in  the  least,  for  really  a  wife  has  no  claim  upon  the 
amorous  longings  of  a  husband.  But  Hannah  is  a 
personality  apart:  her  pain  seems  to  wound  me  in  a 
wonderful  way,  and  it  is  keener,  I  know,  than  she  has 
wanted  me  to  guess.  She  still  wishes  to  live  with  me 
on  a  footing,  as  she  says,  of  friendship  — ' 

"'But  the  false  relation,  Chris,'  I  murmured. 

; '  Grotesquely  false,'  said  he,  '  in  the  case  of  an 
English  wife.  Still,  I  somehow  feel  a  longing  to  please 
her,  Kathleen.' 

"  I  began  to  see  now  that,  if  I  was  to  keep  him  from 
her,  it  must  be  by  showing  that  the  separation  would 
be  for  Hannah's  good,  as  well  as  his  own;  so  I  set  to 
work.  By  this  time  I  was  not  so  excited,  and  I  brought 
out  my  arguments,  and  pleaded  so  well,  that  I  actually 
began  to  feel  like  Hannah's  best  friend,  for  one  must 
either  speak  as  one  feels,  or  else  feel  as  one  speaks. 
I  wonder  if  I  should  have  made  a  great  actress,  a  great 
anything,  if  I  had  tried.  There  is  something  special 
somewhere  in  the  little  box.     But  perhaps  everything 

[65] 


The  Lost  Viol 

in  me  faltered  and  went  crooked  in  sympathy  with  my 
back.  At  any  rate,  I  shed  tears,  and  enjoyed  them, 
when  I  spoke  of  'the  tragedy  of  poor  Hannah's  life'; 
I  showed  that  if  he  lived  with  her,  that  would  only  be 
making  her  '  pain '  permanent,  which  time  would  other- 
wise heal.  'Don't  see  her  even  once  again,'  I  pleaded; 
'  you  still  have  time  to  catch  the  twelve-thirty  train  — ' 

" '  But  what  will  the  good  people  think  ? '  he  asked. 

'"Oh,  Chris,  which  good  people?'  I  said  to  him. 
'How  can  that  matter,  when  your  life,  and  the  life  of 
poor  Yvonne,  and  of  poor  dear  Hannah,  are  all  at 
stake  ?  If  you  mean  Uncle  Peter,  hasn't  it  all  happened 
through  his  own  quixotic  folly?  Let  him  bear  the 
consequences;  an  old  man's  feelings  are  not  to  be 
considered  as  against  the  lives  of  three  young  people. 
Go  now:  don't  let  us  waste  the  precious  minutes  in 
talk.  From  what  I  know  of  Hannah,  she  will  certainly 
try  to  find  you,  but  if  you  make  that  impossible  by 
merely  going  under  another  name  for  say  six  months, 
by  then  all  will  be  well.  Don't  let  a  soul  know  where 
you  are,  except  me  —  not  even  Yvonne,  if  you  can 
help  it,  for  you  know  her  'good  heart,'  and  she  may 
think  it  her  duty  to  tell  Hannah.  If  you  would  like  to 
hear  from  time  to  time  how  your  wife  is  getting  on,  I 
will  meet  you  anywhere  in  England  or  France,  as  often 
as  you  please,  to  tell  you;  or  I  could  even  let  you  know 
by  letter,  if  you  are  not  anxious  to  see  me.'  So  I 
kept  on,  heaping  words  upon  him,  and  it  is  pretty 
easy  to  throw  dust  in  his  eyes  and  persuade  him,  when 

[66] 


The  Lost  Viol 

he  isn't  being  hurried  the  opposite  way  by  one  of  his 
heats.  He  walked  by  my  side  staring  on  the  ground, 
his  forehead  all  puckered  with  perplexity.  At  last  he 
said,  'But  could  I  get  off  without  being  seen  and 
worried  ? ' 

"'Easily,'  I  said.  'You  can  leave  Grimani  behind 
till  to-morrow,  when  I  will  tell  him  where  to  join  you. 
We  won't  take  a  carriage  from  the  Hall  stables,  but  one 
of  my  own.' 

'"But  my  violins,'  he  said  with  a  start. 

" '  Can't  you  leave  them  for  one  day  ? '  I  asked. 

'"I  couldn't!'  he  said. 

" '  Then  I  will  run  now  into  the  house,  and  get  them,' 
I  said  promptly,  to  save  more  words. 

" '  But  I  must  write  a  line  of  farewell  to  Hannah  — ' 
he  began  to  say ;  but  I  cut  all  that  short  —  no  time,  no 
time.  'Come,  Chris,'  I  said,  'it  is  now  or  never: 
aren't  you  decided  to  go  ? ' 

'"Yes,  quite,'  he  said;  and  from  that  moment  he 
became  as  eager  and  breathless  as  I  was.  He  ran  half 
of  the  way  back  to  the  Hall  with  me,  then  I  showed  him 
Hewersfield  Lane,  and  told  him  to  wait  for  the  carriage 
at  Shooen's  Clause.  After  watching  him  start  up 
Hewersfield  Lane,  I  ran  my  fastest  to  the  Hall,  then 
in  by  the  little  courtyard  door,  and  flew  to  find  Gri- 
mani. I  found  him  on  a  sofa  in  Chris's  private  sitting- 
room;  he  couldn't  have  long  come  back  from  the 
bride's  suite,  I  think,  yet  he  was  certainly  drunk:  not 
with  alcohol,  though  —  some  other  drug.     I  panted  to 

[67] 


The  Lost  Viol 

him,  '  Quickly  Grimani,  give  me  Mr.  Wilson's  hat  and 
three  violins,'  and  that  man  looked  at  me,  and  went 
off  into  the  sweetest,  scornfulest  chuckling.  I'm  sure 
I  never  heard  laughter  so  pure,  so  full  of  delight.  I 
understood  at  once  that  it  must  be  due  to  some  drug, 
but  oh,  I  was  cross !  However,  I  hunted  out  for  myself 
all  the  fiddles  and  the  old  cloth  hat,  Grimani  laughing 
for  joy  at  me  all  the  time,  and  with  them  I  flew.  Only 
fifty  minutes  were  left  before  the  last  train,  and  I 
have  never  got  home  from  the  Hall  so  quickly.  I  ran 
direct  to  the  stables,  knocked  up  everybody,  ordered 
the  brougham,  then  into  the  house,  woke  up  Olivia, 
borrowed  five  pounds  from  her,  then  back  for  the  stables. 
I  met  the  brougham  coming,  got  in,  and  drove  fast  to 
Shooen's  Clause. 

"Chris  was  there,  waiting  by  the  hedge-gate.  I 
beckoned  in  advance,  and  he  got  in  as  the  carriage 
stopped.  I  was  all  but  mad  with  haste  and  excitement 
there  alone  with  him  in  the  dark  of  the  brougham;  and 
how  I  loved  him  then!  I  wanted  to  go  with  him  to 
the  world's  end,  at  least  to  the  station;  but  I  didn't 
dare.  Little  time  was  left.  'You  have  only  nineteen 
minutes  to  get  to  Wardenham  in,'  I  said  to  him.  '  Here 
are  the  violins,  your  hat,  and  some  money  to  pay  your 
fare.' 

"He  pressed  my  hand,  saying,  'You  are  a  treasure; 
you  forget  nothing.' 

"Tell  me  where  Grimani  is  to  join  you  to-morrow*' 

'"Say  at  the  Langham  Hotel  in  London.' 

[68] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"  *  And  you  will  write  me  soon  ?     You  promise  ? ' 

" '  Can  you  doubt  it  ? ' 

"Then  all  at  once  my  heart  and  soul  were  in  my 
mouth,  for  I  found  myself  saying:  'Good-by,  Cousin 
Chris,  kiss  me.'  I  felt  as  if  I  had  cast  myself  into  an 
abyss  and  was  falling  forever,  with  something  whis- 
pering at  me,  '  Suppose  he  won't  ? '  It  seemed  an  age 
before  he  kissed  me  on  each  cheek  French-fashion. 
If  I  could  only  have  been  satisfied  with  that!  but  I 
went  crazy  for  more  while  I  had  him  at  that  last 
moment  of  parting,  and  I  fastened  my  lips  to  his,  and 
couldn't  stop,  but  kept  on.  He  dared  to  draw  back 
from  me.  At  least,  I  think  so.  I  have  an  impression 
that  I  was  irksome  to  him,  that  he  felt  sick  at  that 
sort  of  kiss  from  me.  Oh,  may  thunder  crush  me, 
since  shame  doesn't  kill!  After  that  I  knew  no  more, 
till  I  found  myself  lying  near  the  hedge,  the  brougham 
gone.     I  don't  remember  getting  out. 

"I  came  back  home,  they  put  me  to  bed,  and  I 
slept  from  sheer  exhaustion.  The  next  morning  I  took 
one  of  my  long  early  rambles,  and  gathered  a  fine  lot 
of  grasses  for  my  botany-table;  came  home  laughing, 
and  Olivia  said,  'Why,  you  are  looking  as  fresh  as  a 
rose  this  morning.'  Yellow  roses,  my  Livie.  She 
didn't  know  what  was  in  me.  I  asked  for  news  from 
the  Hall:  she  hadn't  heard,  and  I  was  impatient,  so 
drank  just  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  went  down.  It  was 
only  just  eight.  No  one  was  down.  I  walked  about 
the  breakfast  and  morning  rooms,  waiting.     Bentley 

[69] 


The  Lost  Viol 

and  some  men-servants  came  and  went.  Presently  in 
looked  the  white  face  of  Mrs.  Langler,  and  vanished. 
Ten  minutes  later  I  heard  Uncle  Peter's  cough  on  the 
front  terrace.  He  had  been  out  for  a  walk;  I  saw 
him  in  his  muffler  and  top-hat,  talking  with  his  head 
gardener.  On  coming  in,  he  walked  straight  into  the 
morning  room;  must  have  been  surprised  to  see  me, 
looked  at  me  rather  strangely  under  his  eyes  without 
saying  anything;  I  don't  know  what  he  could  have 
been  thinking  of.  He  always  disliked  me,  and  I  have 
disliked  him  since  he  fell  ill  this  last  time,  for  it  isn't 
any  one's  fault  if  he  is  weak  in  the  chest.  There  are 
things  which  will  not  be  written :  only  the  heart  treasures 
them.  Heaven  only  grant  that  he  doesn't  die  for  many 
a  long  day:  I  couldn't  ever  be  alone  after  dusk. 

"I  had  just  begun  to  laugh  and  say  something  to 
him,  when  Mrs.  Langler  came  in,  smiling,  but  horridly 
agitated.  '  Well,'  muttered  Uncle  Peter, '  how's  bride  ? ' 
'I  was  looking  everywhere  for  you,  squire,'  said  she. 
'Well,  well,'  muttered  Uncle  Peter,  'fine  morning  for 
first  winter-sowings.'  'Squire,  I  have  to  tell  you  that 
the  married  pair  are  gone.'  'Gone,  gone,'  muttered 
Uncle  Peter,  'gone  where?'  'Gone  off  to  London, 
squire,'  said  she.  '  What,  what,'  he  muttered, '  Hannah 
gone  without  telling  me  good-by  ? '  '  Oh,  forgive  her, 
squire,'  she  said,  beginning  to  cry,  'all's  not  well.' 
'All  not  well?  What's  the  matter  now,  what's  it, 
what's  it?'  muttered  Uncle  Peter.  'Well,'  said  she, 
'  Miss  Kathleen  here  being  one  of  the  family,  one  may 

[70] 


The  Lost  Viol 

speak  before  her:  they  haven't  gone  together,  squire, 
for  all's  not  well.  Mr.  Wilson  went  away  last  night, 
and  Hannah  followed  by  this  morning's  train.  Not 
that  any  one  need  know  it,  but  they  haven't  gone 
together,  squire.  He  left  her  at  eleven  last  night, 
didn't  come  back,  and  I  couldn't  get  Hannah  to  go  to 
bed.  At  three  in  the  morning  she  went  to  his  apart- 
ments, and  found  out  that  he  was  gone  away.  From 
then  to  a  quarter  past  six  she  sat  without  saying  a 
word,  until  she  said,  'I  shall  be  starting  for  Paris  by 
the  first  train,  mother,  to  look  for  my  husband.'  I 
went  on  my  knees  to  her,  squire,  beseeching  her  only 
to  wait  and  consult  you ;  but  you  know  that  one  might 
as  well  pray  to  the  tides  as  beg  that  girl  to  alter  her 
mind.  She's  gone,  Hannah's  gone.  I  wanted  to  wake 
you  up,  but  she  wouldn't  let  me.  She  started  on  foot 
for  Wardenham  at  a  quarter  to  seven  with  nothing 
but  a  small  bag.     She  left  this  note  for  you,  squire.' 

'The  note  trembled  in  Uncle  Peter's  hand,  and  I 
thought  to  myself, '  You  see  now,  you  see,  what  mischief 
you  have  done  by  your  quixotism';  yet  I  couldn't  help 
pitying  him.  I  don't  know  why  he  took  it  with  such 
frightful  agitation.  I  heard  him  read  three  half-sen- 
tences half  aloud:  'Gone  to  look  for  him,'  and  'Do 
forgive  him,'  and  'He  is  as  good  as  gold';  then  all  at 
once,  before  he  had  read  all,  the  awful  thing  came: 
his  mouth  seemed  to  go  crooked,  and  he  staggered 
half-way  round  the  table,  struggling  to  keep  up,  but 
apparently  without  power  on  the  left  side,  then  gave 

[71] 


The  Lost  Viol 

in  and  sank  down,  bawling  out  something.  It  made 
me  feel  sick,  his  vain  struggle  to  manage  his  left  leg. 
But  I  was  pretty  brave,  I  didn't  run,  I  stood  over  him 
while  Mrs.  Langler  ran,  calling  out;  his  hat  lay  on 
the  floor  near  him,  the  letter  still  in  his  right  hand; 
his  sick  eyes  seemed  to  dwell  on  my  face. 

"He  was  taken  away  in  the  middle  of  a  crowd  of  them, 
and  I  sat  there  for  hours,  staring  before  me.  Quite 
an  ado  was  soon  going  on  on  the  terrace  with  carriages, 
trunks,  and  departing  guests,  and,  on  my  right,  break- 
fast, talk,  and  hurrying  feet ;  but  I  sat  on  alone,  without 
moving,  in  a  sad  mood,  I  don't  know  why.  The  cook 
cooks  and  sweats,  and  adds  the  gravy,  and  then  has 
no  appetite  for  all  her  work:  it  is  a  nice  world.  Once 
Bentley  looked  in  with  his  long  face,  and  told  me  that 
Dr.  Williams  said  that  Uncle  Peter  had  hemiplegia,  a 
stroke  all  down  the  left  side.  I  could  have  told  him 
that.  I  sat  there  till  the  clock  struck  eleven,  when  I 
got  up  and  went  to  tell  Grimani  where  he  was  to  meet 
Chris,  but  found  him  lying  in  the  same  position  as 
during  the  night,  in  a  sort  of  trance  now  apparently, 
with  half-open  eyes.  When  I  shook  him,  his  only 
answer  was  a  murmur.  I  then  scribbled  on  a  bit  of 
paper,  '  Go  to  Miss  Sheridan  when  you  wake,'  and  put 
it  into  his  hand.  Then  I  came  home.  Grimani  did 
not  turn  up  till  near  four  in  the  afternoon,  looking 
smart  and  wide-awake.  He  is  rather  a  handsome 
fellow.  I  asked  him  what  had  made  him  laugh  so 
heartily  the  night  before  when  I  wanted  his  master's 

[72] 


The  Lost  Viol 

violins:  he  answered  that  he  had  no  recollection  of 
having  seen  me;  then  I  asked  what  drug  it  was  which 
he  took,  and  he  very  modestly  answered  —  hashish. 
I  gave  him  the  Langham  Hotel  address,  warning  him 
not  to  mention  it  to  any  one,  and  he  went  away." 


[73] 


CHAPTER  VII 

She  says  at  a  later  date:  "It  is  five  months  since  the 
wedding,  and  this  of  to-day  is  only  the  second  letter 
I  have  from  Chris.  I  have  lived  without  seeing  him, 
I  couldn't  tell  why.  What  a  passion  for  itself  this 
little  hunch  must  cherish!  Let  worlds  perish,  it  says, 
but  let  me  continue  to  bulge  about  under  the  sun. 
Life  is  nothing,  and  I  know  it:  but  still  I  like  it,  I  cling 
to  it,  and  a  scratch  on  one  little  darling  hump  hurts 
more  than  if  all  the  straight  backs  on  earth  were 
broken.  What  keeps  every  one  from  suicide  ?  It  used 
to  be  fear,  as  Hamlet  and  Plato  say,  when  there  was 
hell-fire;  but  now  it  is  hope  of  better  things  to-morrow 
and  the  love  of  one's  personality  —  chiefly  Hope,  '  the 
anchor'  which  keeps  life  from  drifting  into  death. 
For  me  there  is  only  one  hope  —  somehow,  at  the  last, 
to  have  Chris.  I  care  about  nothing  else.  No  doubt 
I  shall  fail  in  it,  as  I  failed  before  my  birth,  as  failure 
runs  like  a  crack  through  my  being,  but  I  live  in  order 
to  try.  I  must  go  out  of  this  place:  Chris  and  Yvonne 
must  be  brought  together  again,  if  I  can  do  it;  if  I 
only  had  power  and  craft,  Yvonne  could  be  made  my 
stepping-stone  to  Chris.  He  writes  that  he  has  kept 
his  word  to  Hannah  and   not  seen  Yvonne,  that  he 

[75] 


The  Lost  Viol 

thinks  of  Hannah,  and  would  like  to  come  here  to  see 
her,  if  he  did  not  fear  to  're-open  her  healing  wound.' 
He  has  no  suspicion  that  Hannah  is  away  searching 
Europe  for  him;  he  thinks  that  she  is  still  here,  for  I 
have  written  him  that  I  see  her,  and  no  one  here  but 
me  knows  where  he  is  to  write  him.  My  belief  is  that 
Chris  is  trying  to  '  be  good,'  and  will  return  to  Hannah, 
if  something  can't  be  contrived  to  send  him  off  at  a 
new  tangent.  And  it  should  be  done  soon,  for  he  comes 
out  definitely  on  the  third  of  next  month,  when  he  gives 
his  first  recital  at  Queen's  Hall.  Hannah  can't  fail  to 
find  him  after  all  that  publicity.  But  what  can  I  do  ? 
I  can  only  wish  and  dream  of  doing.  I  wish  that 
Yvonne  was  in  England.  If  Hannah  once  gets  him 
again,  she  will  keep  him.  The  marriage  bond  is  always 
such  a  power  in  itself,  and  that  girl  certainly  has  some 
sort  of  fascination  for  many  people.  A  fisher-boy 
named  Cooper  trudges  all  the  way  from  Wardenham 
every  Saturday  afternoon  to  ask  after  her,  and  the 
villagers  besiege  the  Langlers  with  questions  and  mes- 
sages. The  love  of  some  of  them  for  her  really  has  a 
touch  of  passion  in  it.  I  hate  her.  Chris's  twenty-five 
pounds  a  month  continues  to  come  for  her,  and  old 
Langler  forwards  it  on.  What  a  tax  on  that  poor  boy ! 
He  has  behaved  beautifully  all  round  in  the  money 
way,  refusing,  Mr.  Bretherton  tells  me,  to  touch  a 
penny  of  the  vast  sums  with  which  Uncle  Peter  bribed 
him  into  this  marriage.  I  suppose,  however,  that  his 
beloved  Joseph  will  soon  bring  him  riches  —  he  writes 

[76] 


The  Lost  Viol 

that  he  has  a  Joseph  now,  another  present  from  a 
lady!  He  sends  me  a  prelude  and  fugue  of  his  own 
writing,  with  the  air  of  'get  your  hair  cut'  for  theme: 
it  is  awfully  sad.  He  has  been  doing  orchestral  prac- 
tise at  a  first  desk  on  the  quiet  in  Berlin  under  Strauss's 
baton,  and  is  '  in  a  sea  of  music,'  working  hard  —  for 
the  recital  perhaps.  I  wonder  if  he  still  drinks  such 
a  terrible  lot  of  wine.  It  is  rather  a  pity,  but  he 
wouldn't  be  half  so  dear  without  the  touch  of  inflam- 
mation in  his  nose.  If  he  were  mine,  I  should  keep 
him  tipsy,  and  we  should  live  and  die  in  Lethe.  Han- 
nah would  'pull  him  all  straight,'  as  she  says  in  her 
off-hand  vernacular,  and  just  spoil  him.  The  day 
before  yesterday  I  got  a  third  letter  from  her,  and  she 
continues  to  write  once  a  week  to  her  parents  and 
Uncle  Peter,  enclosing  hosts  of  little  notes  to  Tom, 
Dick,  and  Harry  round  about.  She  irritates  me: 
something  in  me  hisses  at  the  tone  of  her  nature,  as 
cat  detests  dog.  I  don't  know  what  she  says  to  Uncle 
Peter,  or  he  to  her.  He  still  babbles  when  he  tries  to 
talk,  and  old  Bentley,  who  does  all  his  writing  now, 
has  a  still  tongue:  however,  he  has  let  out  to  me  that 
Uncle  Peter  has  several  times  ordered  Hannah  back  — 
as  though  any  power  on  earth  was  ever  going  to  draw 
that  woman  off  her  quest!  She  has  the  nature  of  a 
bull -dog.  But  if  she  doesn't  come  pretty  soon,  she 
will  never  see  'her  benefactor'  again,  for  since  the 
stroke  Uncle  Peter  becomes  every  week  feebler:  so  I 
hear,  for  I  don't  see  him  now,  I  simply  don't  wish  to. 

[77] 


The  Lost  Viol 

What  shall  I  do,  if  he  dies  ?  I  wonder  if  I  shall  peep 
at  the  body?  I  shall  want  to  awfully,  I  know:  but 
shouldn't  I  pay  for  it  afterwards,  if  I  am  ever  so  mad ! 
Perhaps  I  shall  see  him  when  his  spirit  is  'passing,' 
for  he  always  disliked  me.  I  should  simply  die,  I 
couldn't  live  after.  I  wonder  if  he  will  have  a  white 
ghost  or  a  black.  They  say  it  isn't  serious  to  see 
anything  white,  but  that  the  black  ones  are  terrible. 
At  any  rate  his  Hannah  is  really  'uglier  than  ever' 
now,  for  she  takes  no  notice  of  his  command  to  come 
back.     She  is  still  at  Weimar,"  etc.,  etc. 

This  last  was  not  a  true  statement,  for  under  the 
same  date  Hannah  herself  writes: 

"  Arrived  in  Paris  last  night  after  jolly  voyage  from 
Brussels:  met  in  train  two  Americans,  named  Moore, 
sisters,  very  rich,  with  their  English  masseuse  —  elder 
sister  has  weak  heart,  but  full  of  fun ;  wanted  me  sud- 
den and  quick  to  go  with  her  to  Yankee-land !  Not 
Hannah!  for  what  woman,  having  lost  a  piece  of  silver, 
doth  not  seek  diligently  till  she  find  it  ?  Came  back  to 
Madame  Brault,  and,  to  my  delight,  found  old  room 
free :  197  francs,  3  francs  less  —  a  bargain !  Woke  up 
blooming,  singing,  this  morning,  and,  as  usual,  Paris 
brought  me  luck  and  high  spirits.  First  of  all,  walking 
down  rue  Scribe  on  my  way  to  rue  Croix  des  Petits 
Champs,  met  full-butt  a  monsieur  on  pavement,  nice 
fat  Frenchman, beautifully  dressed:  we  couldn't  get  past 
each  other!  He  dodged  to  right,  J  dodged  to  right;  I 
dodged  to  left,  he  dodged  to  left;  wherever  I  went  I 

[78] 


The  Lost  Viol 

found  him,  wherever  he  fled,  there  I  was,  barring  his 
way;  we  kept  it  up  for  a  good  half-minute,  trying  to 
escape  each  other,  but  fastened  together  by  destiny. 
Kept  face  stern  as  I  could,  but  a  grieved  look  came 
into  his  eyes,  and  then  I  couldn't  help,  screamed  right 
out.  He  lifted  his  hat  as  we  got  clear,  with  a  look 
which  meant, '  I  forgive.'  This  has  kept  me  going  in 
laughter  for  the  day  every  time  I  think  of  it.  Well, 
Hannah,  a  merry  heart  doeth  good  like  a  medicine. 
It  is  a  shout  only  to  live.  My  soul  shall  magnify  the 
Lord,  and  my  spirit  shall  rejoice  in  God. 

"  Didn't  go  straight  to  rue  Croix  des  Petits  Champs, 
as  I  had  meant,  but  off  at  a  tangent  to  rue  de  Berri 
to  visit  the  Gauds.  Sad  news  there,  Hannah.  Every- 
thing squalid  again,  children  uncared  for,  Gaud  gone 
back  to  the  absinthe!  Saw  it  at  a  glance.  Just 
planted  myself  down,  and  had  a  good  old  cry,  in 
which  madame  and  little  Lucille  joined.  Said  '  Never 
mind,  soon  pull  him  all  straight  again.'  First  French- 
man, I  suppose,  who  ever  signed  a  pledge,  and  what 
I've  made  him  do  once,  can  make  him  do  twice.  But 
what  time  does  news  at  rue  Croix  des  Petits  Champs 
leave  for  anything?  Must  be  in  London  within  a 
week.     Pray,  pray  for  them.     'Alone  God  sumceth.' 

"Thence  straight  to  rue  Croix  des  Petits  Champs" 
—  this  is  the  violin-street  of  Paris  —  "  and  to  my  dear 
old  friend,  Meunier.  The  old  soul's  joy  af  seeing  me! 
His  face  lit  up  gloriously.  Said  I  was  talking  French 
like  a  jranpaise,  wicked  flatterer.     Had  great  news  for 

[79] 


The  Lost  Viol 

me !  What  news  ?  No,  wouldn't  tell :  must  first  hear 
me  play  in  parlor  behind  shop  on  a  new  Lupot  which 
he  has,  bought  from  the  year's  gold-medalist  at  Con- 
servatoire; so  I  in  parlor,  fiddle  'well  up'  at  chin,  he 
and  madame  all  smiles  and  fat,  listening  critically, 
played  air  from  'Sonnambula'  with  variations.  Meu- 
nier's  verdict,  that  I  had  got  on  wonderfully,  fine  tone 
and  taste,  would  soon  get  fluency;  hoped  I  wasn't 
killing  myself.  'Fifteen  hours  most  days,'  I  told  him, 
and  the  astonishment  of  the  pair  of  them !  They  didn't 
say,  'What  a  woman!'  but  'What  a  race!'  as  though 
all  Englishwomen  were  not  a  lot  of  dolls.  Then,  after 
much  sweet  fuss  and  preparation,  came  the  great  news : 
Chris  found,  the  darling  of  my  soul  to  be  mine  again. 
Let  all  that  is  within  me  shout  His  Name.  Meunier 
showed  English  newspaper:  great  stir  in  musical  Lon- 
don; Chris  already  known  as  'rising  star,'  'coming 
man,'  and  taker  of  Vienna  'by  storm';  recital  on  3d 
of  next  month  at  Queen's  Hall;  every  one  on  the  look- 
out to  be  taken  'by  storm.'  Hannah,  too,  will  be 
there,  will  wait  at  stage-door,  will  follow  Chris  home. 
And  then  —  what  next  ?  Shall  I  be  turned  out  of 
doors  ?  Don't  know.  The  Lord  judge  between  me 
and  thee.  Meunier  sure  now  that  Chris  must  have 
changed  name  after  leaving  Vienna,  or  I  must  have 
found  him  long  since.  Strange  that  he  should  go  so 
far  as  that  —  not  kind,  not  very  like  him ;  perhaps 
put  into  his  head  by  some  friend.  I  should  certainly 
have  found  out  about  Queen's  Hall  recital  without 

[80] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Meunier's  help,  but  so  thankful  that  it  was  from  him 
and  no  other  that  I  learned  it,  for  he  sent  me  all  the 
way  to  Brussels  on  a  false  scent,  and  that  must  have 
been  heavy  on  his  poor  old  heart,  but  now  he  will 
say,  'Yes,  I  sent  her  on  false  scent,  but  at  the  last  it 
was  I  who  found  him  for  her.'  In  three  days,  then, 
for  London:  must  lose  fortnight's  pension,  paid  in 
advance,  98  francs,  50.  Don't  care,  all  in  the  day's 
work." 


[81] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Chris  Wilson  was  in  chambers  in  Gray's  Inn  when 
the  morning  of  his  recital,  the  third  of  the  month,  came 
round.  He  had  meant  to  do  his  day's  practice  early, 
so  as  to  have  fresh  nerves  for  the  evening,  but  he  lay 
late  abed  that  morning  —  awake,  indeed,  but  uncalled. 
The  clock's  hands  moved  on  from  nine  to  ten,  to  half 
past,  and  it  was  pathetic,  his  meek,  smiling  patience, 
the  stirring  of  his  eyebrows  for  wonder  that  Grimani 
did  not  come,  and  his  lack  of  power  to  rise  without 
Grimani.  He  was  not  altogether  sorry  to  be  let  alone, 
for  he  had  sat  up  till  four  a.  m.  with  a  gay  crew  in 
Victoria;  but  when  it  became  eleven,  that  was  too 
much,  and  Chris  began  to  call  out  for  Grimani. 

There  was  no  answer. 

At  last,  at  twenty  past  eleven,  Chris  leapt  from  bed: 
and  he  was  no  sooner  on  his  feet  than  he  had  a  fresh 
insight  into  the  value  of  time,  like  a  fresh  sense  and 
pair  of  eyes,  of  which  he  had  been  bereft  while  he  lay 
pleasing  himself  abed.  And  he  became  on  a  sudden 
very  angry. 

Hurrying  straightway,  therefore,  into  Grimani's 
room,  Chris  began  to  use  strong  words,  but  soon  saw 
that  they  were  wasted,  for  Grimani  lay  in  the  trance 

[83] 


The  Lost  Viol 

which  the  Arabs  call  the  "  kief  "  —  the  last  of  the  three 
states  through  which  one  passes  under  the  power  of 
hashish;  so  Chris,  without  more  words,  fell  upon  his 
valet,  pulling  and  beating  him. 

When  he  had  got  Grimani  more  or  less  awake,  he 
said  to  him :  "  I  will  bear  it  no  longer.  Off  you  go  this 
very  day,  and  this  time  I  mean  it.  It  is  simply  pitiful 
how  you  neglect  me.  Get  me  my  breakfast  quickly, 
call  the  woman  in,  pack  your  trunk,  and  never  come 
back  to  me  again." 

Grimani,  in  a  bad  temper  at  being  hustled  down 
thus  suddenly  out  of  heaven,  began  to  answer  back 
that  he  was  glad  enough  to  get  out  of  such  a  place, 
that,  if  he  took  hashish,  Chris  took  wine,  and  it  was 
six  of  one  and  half-a-dozen  of  the  other,  etc.,  etc., 
whereat  Chris  fled  from  his  valet's  tongue  with  the 
words,  "Off  you  go." 

Grimani  then  pulled  himself  together,  and  got  the 
breakfast.  Not  a  word  was  said  while  he  waited  at 
table,  till,  toward  the  end,  he  asked,  "Do  you  really 
mean  me  to  go  away  ? "  to  which  Chris  answered, 
"Yes,  off  you  go;  I  mean  it  this  time." 

"  C'est  tres-bien ! "  (All  right !)  said  Grimani  in  the 
tone  of  a  threat. 

He  did  his  work,  summoned  before  her  time  the 
house- woman,  or  "laundress,"  as  they  are  called  in 
the  Inn,  and  lingeringly  packed  his  trunks,  half  expect- 
ing Chris  to  come  and  make  friends  before  it  should 
be  too  late.     But  Chris  was  now  in  another  world, 

[84] 


The  Lost  Viol 

with  a  fiddle  under  his  chin.  At  last  Grimani,  having 
no  excuse  to  stay  longer,  went  to  be  paid  his  wages, 
still  hoping  that  Chris  would  say  something  pleasant. 
But  Chris  paid  him  with  a  flushed  forehead  in  an 
irritated  haste  at  being  stopped  in  his  morning  work; 
and  Grimani  left  the  room  with  his  check  in  a  grim, 
Italian  mood. 

He  knew  that  that  night  was  to  be  one  of  the  greatest 
in  Chris's  musical  career,  and  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  Chris,  if  he  played  at  all,  should  play  badly. 
Grimani  and  Chris  had  been  so  long  and  closely  bound 
together,  that  to  be  turned  off  in  this  way  was,  natu- 
rally, a  painful  shock  to  the  valet.  Something  of  this 
kind  had,  indeed,  happened  often  before,  but  had 
never  gone  so  far;  and  a  Neapolitan  does  not  go  un- 
avenged. Grimani,  accordingly,  after  being  paid, 
went  back  to  his  portmanteau,  and  took  out  a  little 
tin  box.  This  box  had  in  it  a  substance  something 
like  greengage  jam,  but  paler;  it  was  hashish,  the 
so-called  "fat  extract"  of  cannabis  (hemp  boiled  with 
butter).  One  takes  only  a  teaspoonful  of  this  in  order 
to  get  up  into  one  of  Grimani's  heavens,  but  Grimani 
now  took  out  nearly  a  tablespoonful  of  it;  he  next  took 
out  a  decanter  of  wine  from  a  cabinet  in  the  sitting- 
room,  poured  in  the  hashish,  shook  it  up,  put  back  the 
decanter;  from  the  next  room  came  the  music  which 
Chris  was  making.  The  Italian's  lips  were  banefully 
set;  when  his  wicked  work  was  done,  he  made  haste 
to  leave  the  flat. 

[85] 


The  Lost  Viol 

He  knew  that  Chris,  before  setting  out  to  play, 
always  drank  of  the  Alicante  wine  in  that  particular 
decanter,  which  followed  Chris  from  city  to  city. 
Grimani  was  sure,  therefore,  that  the  very  hashish  for 
which  he  was  being  sent  away  would  not  fail  to  bring 
him  his  revenge. 

That,  on  the  whole,  was  a  day  of  flurry  and  trouble 
for  Chris.  About  one  p.  m.  a  mob  of  idle  young  men 
came  upon  him,  and  the  "laundress"  being  gone,  no 
one  opened  the  door  to  them.  "Grimani!"  shouted 
Chris,  but  no  Grimani  answered.  Chris  had  to  let 
them  in  himself,  and  ever  and  anon  broke  in  upon  the 
babel  of  their  talk  by  shouting  "  Grimani ! "  in  a  pathetic 
way,  till  it  dawned  upon  his  memory  that  he  had  sent 
Grimani  away;  then  he  had  to  go  out  to  meet  several 
people,  such  as  his  accompanist,  a  famous  Polish 
pianist,  Hill's,  the  hall-manager,  his  agent,  and  some 
others  whom  he  was  bound  to  see,  but  either  forgot, 
or  had  not  enough  time.  Late  in  the  afternoon  the 
quaint  maid  with  Miss  Olivia  called  upon  him,  but  no 
one  opened  to  them.  When  at  last  Chris  returned 
home  to  dress  with  four  or  five  young  men  at  his  heels, 
it  was  already  time  for  the  concert  to  begin.  In  the 
midst  of  his  dressing  he  ran  and  poured  out  a  tumbler 
of  the  wine  drugged  by  Grimani,  but  some  one  speaking 
to  him  drew  off  his  mind,  and  he  was  in  such  a  prickly 
heat  of  haste,  that  in  the  end  he  rushed  out  of  his 
chambers  without  having  drunk  any  of  the  drugged 
Alicante.     Chris  was  always  late  for  concerts,  and  for 

[86] 


The  Lost  Viol 

everything;  so  the  tumbler  of  drugged  wine  was  left 
standing  on  the  table  of  his  sitting-room. 

When  he  drove  up  with  his  friends  to  Queen's  Hall, 
his  audience  was  already  getting  restless  for  him. 
Hannah  wrote  of  it  that  "  Though  I  didn't  know  who 
was  who,  I  felt  that  'everybody'  was  there;  I  well  in 
front,  area,  five  shillings;  he  scandalously  late;  crowd 
waiting  on  one  boy;  Hannah's  heart  wild  as  a  bird. 
Then  these  eyes  saw  him  —  frock-coat,  stout,  forehead 
flushed  with  haste,  nose  a  bit  shiny,  and  very  modest 
and  dear  he  looked,  with  his  meek,  drowsy  eyes,  his 

meek,   dear   smile.     People   clapped;    he   and   H 

bowed;  in  another  half-minute  he  had  one  by  the 
ears  —  fugue  of  Bach.  That  wasn't  much,  perhaps, 
but,  if  I  were  paid,  couldn't  describe  how  it  all  went  on 
after  the  Kreutzer  bit,  I  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  and 
toward  the  end  a  scene  of  really  high-wrought  excite- 
ment throughout  that  hall,  not  at  all  the  ordinary 
applause,  but  bursting  out  uncontrollably,  like  cries  of 
the  heart;  I,  too,  clapping  without  knowing;  old 
gentleman  whispered  agitatedly  at  my  ear,  'The  first 
English  maestro.'  During  the  Kreutzer  his  E  string 
went  —  hundreds  of  opera-glasses  bent  upon  his  fingers 
—  didn't  mind  a  bit,  on  he  went,  his  two  hands  all 
over  the  place  at  once,  plucking,  striking,  darting,  face 
flushed,  hair  trembling,  octaves  coining  like  one  note, 
harmonics  precise  as  fate;  seems  greatest  in  f  and 
bravura  passages,  '  rides  the  storm,'  has  a  Joseph  now 
from  somewhere  —  sounded  to  me  like  a  Joseph ;  and 

[87] 


The  Lost  Viol 

all  the  time  something  whispering  to  me,  'This  boy 
who  is  shaking  this  hall  as  one  shakes  a  child  by  the 
shoulders,  as  one  stirs  a  pot,  as  angel  troubled  waters 
of  Siloam,  he  is  married  to  you,  Hannah,  all  this  crowd 
strangers  to  him,  but  you  his  own  wife.'  I  cried  and 
laughed,  proud  of  him.  Yes,  Chris  mayn't  be  a  saint 
or  a  hero,  but  a  hero  in  his  way,  like  Samson  '  brings 
down  the  house,'  can  do  one  thing  wildly  well,  is  God's 
workman.  If  a  man  can  do  his  work,  forgive  him  all 
his  sins.  Chris  doesn't  play  to  audience,  plays  to 
himself,  audience  just  happens  to  overhear  him  playing. 
That's  right !  —  in  all  art,  in  art  of  living :  '  Let  not  thy 
left  hand  know!'  Hearty  sincerity,  'the  inner  life': 
then  don't  much  heed  what  anybody  thinks,  just  jog 
stubbornly  along  the  right  path,  humming  to  yourself, 
'Let's  all  be  jolly,  boys.'  Chris  has  this  sincerity  and 
inner  musical  life,  and  it  streams  from  him  in  psychic 
waves  which  thrill  those  capable  of  being  thrilled  by 
high  things:  that's  his  secret.  Others  stir,  seldom  so 
powerfully.  Hall  continued  to  be  crowded  long  after 
concert,  handkerchiefs  and  programs  waving,  recalled 
eighteen  times,  gave  two  extra  pieces,  a  Lied,  and 
notturno  out  of  M.  N'.s  Dream;  felt  pained  for  him 
coming  and  going  in  and  out  so  often;  even  when 
hall  had  slowly  emptied,  still  a  sprinkling  of  enthusiasts 
calling  him  back,  ladies  pressing  upon  stage-steps  to 
shake  hands,  then  outside  another  mob  besieging 
carriage,  he  meek  and  good,  shaking  most  hands. 
Procession  of  four  cabs  full  of  men  followed  his  off, 

[88] 


The  Lost  Viol 

don't  know  who  they  were,   friends:    the  sixth  was 
mine. 

'  The  lot  of  us  to  Grosvenor  Square,  stopped  at  big 
house  with  porch,  where  all  went  in,  I  waiting  in  my 
cab  with  the  empty  cabs:  something  told  me  he  didn't 
live  there,  waited  a  long  time,  drizzly  dark  night, 
hardly  any  one  about  there.  Then  heard  fiddling  in 
house,  not  his  at  first,  but  presently  his,  I  was  certain, 
then  piece  after  piece  by  him.  Didn't  know  what  to 
make  of  it,  at  last  got  out  of  cab  and  rapped;  asked 
footman  if  Mr.  Wilson  lived  there:  'No,  was  there, 

didn't  live  there.'     'Whose  house?'     'Lord  L 's,' 

musical  patron  and  amateur.  Waited  till  near  mid- 
night, when  out  they  cime  again,  pitched  into  waiting 
cabs,  and  away,  I  following,  noisy  laughter  from  cabs 
in  front.  They  got  out  in  narrow  street  near  Leicester 
Square,  and  into  drinking-place  called  Gambrinus.' 
I  waited  twenty  minutes,  till  they  came  noisier  than 
ever,  then  followed  to  quiet  sort  of  nook  called  'the 
Albany,'  behind  Regent  Street  —  residential  chambers. 
All  went  into  a  house,  I  waiting  with  other  cabs  to  see 
if  he  would  come  out,  my  heart  weary  for  him.  One 
o'clock,  half  past,  two:  London  well  asleep.  Soon 
after  two  they  came  again,  he  arm  in  ami  with  loud- 
laughing,  bearded  foreigner.  The  five  cabs  started 
off  once  more,  I,  as  usual,  following  ten  yards  behind; 
in  Piccadilly  they  parted,  his  going  eastward  into  Long 
Acre,  I  after  him.  Drove  into  ITolborn,  where  he  and 
two  others  got  out  at  a  gate  and  rang  bell;  night-porter 

[89] 


The  Lost  Viol 

opened,  they  went  in ;  soon  I,  too,  rang,  went  in,  passed 
through  one  square  into  another,  and  saw  them  just 
entering  house,  he  between  the  other  two,  arm  in  arm. 
I  followed  into  house,  and,  guided  by  their  noise,  went 
up  quaint,  rickety  stairs  with  large  banisters  to  second 
floor.  Waiting  on  landing,  heard  them  behind  massive 
black  door  which  had  'Mr.  Chris  Wilson'  on  it  in 
white  letters ;  could  just  see  by  light  burning  on  landing 
below.  Knew  now  where  he  lived,  so  ran  down  and 
out  to  gate  again,  paid  cabman  —  ten  shillings  after  a 
wrangle !  —  then  in  again  and  up  to  landing  before 
door.  Why  couldn't  I  have  waited  till  next  day  now 
that  I  knew?  If  I  only  had!  Impulse  and  warm 
heart  will  bring  these  silly,  erring  feet  into  some  nice 
trap  some  day,  Hannah. 

"Waited  on  landing  fifteen  minutes  for  two  friends 
to  leave,  heart  literally  in  my  mouth.  It  had  come  to 
the  point  now.  Something  said  to  me,  'It  would  be 
far  better  all  round  to  wait  till  to-morrow,  especially 
as  you  are  in  such  a  blue  fright  now';  but  the  more 
everything  in  me  urged  flight,  the  more  my  feet  stuck 
where  they  were.  Headlong  self-will  passing  itself  off 
in  the  guise  of  '  duty  that  lies  nearest,'  and  what  has 
it  brought  me  into  now!  Oh,  it  was  God's  will  to 
humble  me  horribly  that  night,  that  I  may  know  better 
the  poor  thing  that  I  am. 

"  They  came  out  at  last,  the  two  friends  —  miserably 
tipsy;  I  stole  into  the  dark  higher  up  the  stairs,  till 
Chris  had  slammed  his  '  oak '  after  them ;  then  all  was 

[90] 


The  Lost  Viol 

still,  till  a  town-clock  struck  three;  hung  up  there  on 
stairs  fully  five  minutes,  then  with  a  rush  was  down, 
knocking  at  his  door. 

"Heard  hirn  coming,  laughing  to  himself,  and  the 
moment  he  saw  me  he  upset  me  by  bursting  out  into 
heartiest  laughter!  'What,  a  woman?'  said  he. 
'Chris,  it  is  I,'  I  said.  'Who  are  you?'  he  asked, 
laughing.  '  Look  at  me,  Chris,'  I  said,  '  it  is  Hannah.' 
He  thought  it  over  a  moment,  then  said,  'What,  my 
own  lawful  wife  ? '  —  and  he  went  off  afresh  into  the 
same  delicious  giggling.  Oh,  he  was  tipsy!  I  should 
have  had  to  laugh,  too,  if  I  hadn't  been  so  jumpy. 
'  If  you  are  glad  to  see  me,'  I  said,  awfully  agitated, 
'  I  will  come  in  for  twenty  minutes.'  '  Mmm,'  he  went, 
'  my  own  dear  friend,  I  am  charmed  to  see  you ;  come 
in  instantly.'  Another  moment  and  he  was  laughing 
again,  his  cheek  against  mine,  arm  round  my  waist, 
drawing  me  to  sofa,  where  he  sat  beside  me.  It  was 
cozy  in  there,  those  old  rooms  most  artistically  furnished, 
with  a  French  touch.  I  felt  all  shut  in  with  him,  alone 
in  a  world,  and  couldn't  help  being  soft-soaped  at  my 
hearty  reception,  but  didn't  quite  like  the  wine-inspired 
kisses  or  mocking  laughter,  and  made  up  my  mind 
sharply,  inflexibly  (as  I  thought),  to  tear  myself  away 
within  five  minutes,  for  my  fiddler  began  to  be  pressing, 
and  when  I  was  coy,  said,  'Mmm,  are  you  not  my 
wife  ? '  as  though  nothing  had  ever  happened  between 
that  boy  and  me!  But  that  wasn't  good  enough  for 
Hannah,   though   inwardly   pleased   as   Punch,   and   I 

[91] 


The  Lost  Viol 

thought, '  He  shall  never  say  that  I  got  over  and  bound 
him  irrevocably  to  me  when  he  was  tipsy:  it  is  urgent 
that  I  go  quickly!'  It  was  hard  to  do,  he  so  fond, 
endearing,  boylike,  but  still  I  was  on  the  very  point  of 
going:  I  remember  that  much  distinctly.  Then,  why, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  didn't  I  go  till  two  P.  M.  the  next 
day  ?  What  a  mystery!  Did  I,  too,  get  tipsy  ?  Seems 
utterly  impossible!  True,  haven't  drunk  wine  for  ten 
years,  except  in  church,  but  I  hardly  took  more  then 
than  at  Holy  Communion!  Two  sips,  perhaps  three. 
Did  that  get  into  my  head  ?  Wonderful  sort  of  wine ! 
No,  can't  think  that:  no  head  so  weak.  But  something 
did  happen  to  me:  am  as  sure  of  it  as  of  sitting  here. 
In  any  case,  the  shame,  the  weakness  and  pain  of  it! 
"There  was  a  tumbler  half  full  of  wine  and  a  de- 
canter on  table  near  sofa  where  we  sat;  twice  or  thrice 
Chris  sipped  from  tumbler;  I  was  talking  about  recital, 
just  ready  to  fly,  when  he,  left  arm  round  me,  held 
tumbler  to  my  lips  with  his  fond  murmur;  I  shook  my 
head,  but  when  he  pleaded  '  Oh,  just  a  little  Alicante,' 
sipped  a  little.  Have  a  fancy  now  that  it  tasted  funny 
—  buttery  like :  not  sure ;  but  from  that  time  remember 
clearly  nothing,  nothing  that  happened:  all  like  won- 
derful, but  most  shameful,  dream.  Either  once  or 
twice  afterwards,  I  sipped  more  Alicante;  don't  re- 
member; it  might  have  been  a  dozen  times,  really,  I 
lived  through  that  night  in  such  a  profound  haze. 
Haze  of  tar-rainbows!  Ungodly  Utopia!  The  state 
I  allowed  myself  to  get  into!     What,  what  can  have 

[92] 


The  Lost  Viol 

happened  to  me?  Every  power  of  mind  and  body 
seemed  so  enlarged!  How  enormously  I  loved  that 
night!  How  we  two  giggled  to  each  other!  Shame, 
to  my  last  breath.  Was  it  /  really?  No  good  thing 
in  me,  then  ?  Seem  to  have  utterly  forgotten  promise 
to  myself  to  fly  from  him!  Can  any  will  be  quite  so 
godlessly  forgetful  ?  And  the  wicked  pride  which 
puffed  me!  Remember  feeling  that  whatever  I  did 
must  be  right,  had  been  a  fool  all  my  life,  but  now 
was  'all  there,'  all  the  world  fools,  except  Chris  and 
me;  and  this  kept  growing,  I  fancy,  beyond  measure 
into  impiety,  till  at  last  I  said,  satisfied,  'Well,  I  am 
God;  and  Chris  is  with  me  in  the  Heavens.'  Can't 
be  too  sure,  all  very  muggy  and  far-off;  only  know  that 
I  must  have  either  gone  raving  mad,  or  very  drunk. 

"Another  woman  might  have  sworn  that  Chris 
drugged  wine!  Have  heard  of  such  things.  But  im- 
possible to  him  in  any  case,  and  in  my  case  how  foolish, 
being  his  already.  No,  something  happened  inside 
my  brain,  the  will  of  God  to  humble  my  womanhood 
to  the  dust.     Shall  I  ever  laugh  again  ? 

"  Some  time  or  other  I  fell  into  a  sleep  full  of  trances 
and  visions  that  seemed  to  last  a  hundred  years,  and 
though  I  only  dimly  remember  whatever  I  did,  I  clearly 
remember  whatever  I  dreamt,  for  reality  seems  to  have 
become  a  dream,  dreaming  the  only  reality.  When  I 
woke  was  by  the  side  of  Chris,  who  was  asleep.  Had 
never  known  complete  wretchedness  till  that  moment; 
woke  sane,  slight  pain  in  head,  conscience  heavy,  like 

[93] 


The  Lost  Viol 

waking  in  Hell,  and,  like  stab  to  the  heart,  a  guess,  a 
knowledge  of  all.  Clock  pointed  to  one-thirty  —  in 
the  day!  but  room  still  very  dim.  Sat  up  quickly, 
pulled  myself  together,  saw  at  once  my  life  done  for, 
since  Chris  would  and  must  hate  me  always  for  tricking 
him  into  this  while  hopelessly  tipsy.  Dared  to  pray, 
even  then,  for  a  bruised  reed  He  will  not  break,  and 
has  regard  to  the  humble  in  heart:  and  answer  came 
quickly  —  a  flood  of  inspiration,  saying,  '  Get  away 
quickly,  for  since  he  was  so  very  tipsy  when  you  came, 
and  his  memory  always  bad,  he  may  forget  that  you 
were  ever  here;  then  all  will  be  as  if  nothing  had 
happened;  to-morrow  or  some  time  you  can  come 
afresh.'  Looked  close  at  dear  face  —  fast  asleep,  eyes 
a  little  open;  in  a  moment  was  up,  dressing,  never 
dressed  so  quickly,  not  minding  buttons,  hair  anyhow, 
laces  all  over  the  place;  was  in  the  act  of  rushing  out 
with  jacket  hanging  over  arm,  hatpins,  umbrella  in 
hand,  when  something  said,  'But  suppose,  suppose: 
may  you  not  some  day  need  proof  that  you  once  passed 
a  night  in  these  rooms  ? '  Stopped,  thought  it  quickly 
out;  made  up  my  mind  to  take  away  something  pecul- 
iar, precious,  which  would  be  at  once  known,  if  ever 
tendered  as  proof  and  pledge.  Looked  about  —  four 
violins;  didn't  like  to  take,  lest  he  might  want,  but, 
hung  up  here  and  there,  museum  of  out-of-date  fiddles, 
old  viol  d'amore,  six-stringed  Duiffoprugcar,  small  viol 
di  Gamba  with  neck  gone,  a  rebec,  crowth,  rotta;  took 
viol  di  Gamba,  then,  to  make  sure,  took  from  dressing- 

[94] 


The  Lost  Viol 

table  watch  and  chain,  old  amethyst  ring  with  intaglio, 
and  nail-brush  engraved  with  word  'Chris'  in  silver; 
then  made  escape. 

"  Outside  on  '  oak '  five  cards  pinned  up  —  visitors 
—  also  bit  of  paper  with  '  Mrs.  Hewett,  the  laundress, 
called,  but  could  not  get  in.'  What  a  sleep!  All 
those  people  knocking,  and  neither  of  us  hearing  a 
sound ! 

"Finished  dressing  on  landing,  went  down,  broad 
day  seeming  strange  to  my  eyes,  got  into  first  cab,  and 
home  to  Guilford  Street.  Fresh  trouble  waiting  there 
for  Hannah,  as  sparks  fly  upward !  Letter  from  mama : 
Sir  Peter  really  dying  at  last,  asks  for  me.  Should 
have  started  at  once,  but  not  equal  to  it  to-day;  head 
still  going  round,  round,  hands  shaky;  but  nothing 
must  keep  me  from  his  death-bed:  sent  telegram, 
'Come  by  early  train  to-morrow.'  Am  writing  iioav 
in  bed,  half-past  ten:  last  night  at  this  time  was  fol- 
lowing his  cab  about  London,  self-sure,  silly,  little 
dreaming  what  trap  lay  waiting  for  my  feet.  How 
much  has  happened  since!  The  short  distance  we  see 
before!  'A  little  longer  lend  Thy  guiding  Hand  to 
these  dark  steps,  a  little  further  on.'  To-morrow 
morning  by  the  nine-fifteen  for  home.  Will  write  first 
a  note,  'Am  at  Orrock';  then,  if  he  remembers  and 
cares,  he  will  come  to  me." 

Hannah  did  duly  depart  the  next  morning  to  Sir 
Peter  Orrock's  dying  bed,  after  writing  a  word  to 
Chris.     But  her  hope  that  Chris  would  forget  all  about 

[95] 


The  Lost  Viol 

her  visit  when  he  woke  was  perfectly  fulfilled.  Hashish 
has  that  effect  of  blotting  out  and  drowning  real  hap- 
penings under  dreams,  and  Chris  had  already  well 
drunk  of  the  wine  drugged  by  Grimani  before  ever 
Hannah  rapped  at  his  door  and  appeared  before  him. 
Even  the  little  that  Hannah  in  her  diary  remembers 
of  what  happened  after  she  had  drunk  is  remarkable, 
and  due  only  to  her  very  powerful  memory.  As  to 
Chris's  memory,  it  was  even  weaker  than  hers  was 
strong,  for  it  often  happened  to  him,  when  his  head 
was  full  of  music,  to  stand  still  in  a  street  and  look 
about  in  a  lost  way,  asking  himself,  'Am  I  in  Paris 
now  or  in  London  ?  Whither  am  I  going,  and  for 
what?'  When  therefore  he  woke  from  the  hashish  it 
was  with  all  memory  of  Hannah's  visit  cleared  from 
his  mind.  She,  for  her  part,  had  the  instinctive  feeling 
that  he  would  forget  because  of  her  own  very  vague 
memory  of  all  that  had  happened:  hence  she  had 
taken  the  viol  and  other  things  as  her  proofs,  and  had 
done  well. 

Chris,  on  missing  these,  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
had  been  robbed  by  a  burglar,  and  was  furious  at  the 
loss  of  his  viol  di  Gamba.  He  meant  to  put  the  matter 
into  the  hands  of  the  police,  but  shirked  the  boredom 
of  it,  and  soon  forgot. 


[96] 


CHAPTER  IX 

Meanwhile,  Hannah  had  left  off  the  chase  of  a 
husband  to  give  herself  to  the  dying  man;  the  strain 
of  her  mind  turned  from  Chris  to  Sir  Peter  in  the 
easiest  way;  and  as  to  her  nursing,  Miss  Praed,  the 
nurse,  said  to  Mrs.  Dene,  the  housekeeper,  "  Certainly, 
whatever  her  hand  finds  to  do  she  does  with  her  might; 
and  she  is  a  born  nurse,  though  rather  untidy  some- 
times." 

Miss  Praed  had  not  left  the  Hall  since  that  first 
breakdown  of  Sir  Peter's  due  to  sleeping  in  a  draft 
seven  months  before. 

"It  is  extraordinary,  too,"  answered  Mrs.  Dene, 
"how  the  old  man  rallied  when  she  came.  He  was 
expected  to  die,  you  remember,  that  very  day  of  her 
arrival  just  five  weeks  ago,  and  he  is  still  holding  out. 
I  suppose  it  is  because  he  is  so  wonderfully  attached 
to  her,  for  he  no  longer  tries  to  hide  it." 

"Or  it  may  be  simply  animal  magnetism,"  said 
Miss  Praed,  "the  actual  passing  of  power  out  of  a 
powerful  life  into  a  dying  one.  When  old  King  David 
was  dying  they  put  a  young  damsel  into  bed  with  him, 
and  that  kept  him  living;  and  so  it  may  be  in  this  case, 
for  I  never  knew  anyone  with  such  beaming  health  as 

[97] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Mrs.  Wilson.  Perhaps  we  all  rise  better  after  sitting 
near  those  sort  of  people,  and  that's  why  we  like  them, 
being  just  conscious  that  we  get  something  out  of 
them." 

"But  is  Hannah  quite  well  at  present?"  said  Mrs. 
Dene.  "  Hardly  quite  herself,  I  have  thought  —  a 
little  falling  off  in  the  laughter  and  fresh  color.  Haven't 
you  noticed  anything?" 

Miss  Praed  smiled  mysteriously  at  this,  saying, 
"Perhaps  she  and  the  genius  have  met  oftener  than 
we  suppose!" 

"Oh,  no  —  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Dene.  "They  have 
not  met  since  the  wedding  day ;  I  have  questioned  Mrs. 
Langler  —  there's  nothing,  nothing." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Wilson,  shall  I  never  meet  you  again  to 
pour  out  to  you  a  piece  of  my  mind  ? "  sighed  Miss 
Praed,  just  as  Hannah  herself  passed  swiftly  through 
the  apartment,  smiling  upon  them  with  her  eyes;  for 
another  nurse  having  just  taken  her  place  at  the  sick- 
bed, she  was  going  out  for  her  night-walk.  Coming 
home  again  had  been  a  gladness  to  her,  she  had  such 
a  love  for  small  things,  and  for  each  tree  and  face  in 
the  old  place;  but  even  now,  after  five  weeks,  she  had 
not  yet  peeped  afresh  at  everything,  and  that  night 
she  went  all  along  the  cliffs,  watching  to  see  what 
fresh  bits  the  sea  had  washed  away  during  her  months 
of  absence,  for  she  knew  every  yard  of  the  coast,  and 
wherever  change  had  taken  place  her  memory  stored 
it.     A  yard  more  had  gone  just  where  Mrs.  Dawe's 

[98] 


The  Lost  Viol 

cottage  had  slipped,  and  three  more  coffin-feet  were 
showing  —  for  the  coffins  are  buried  with  their  feet  to 
the  east.  Up  and  down  the  cliff-paths  she  climbed 
and  slid,  or  walked  along  the  broad  sands,  nothing 
moving  in  the  vast  of  nature  but  her,  for  it  was  late, 
the  harvest-moon  was  shining  as  on  that  night  before 
her  marriage  when  Chris,  Yvonne,  Kathleen,  and  she 
had  strolled  thereabouts  together;  and  lonesome  she 
looked  in  that  scene,  yet  she  was  of  it,  the  soil  was  in 
her  blood,  the  sea  had  a  meaning  there  which  she 
knew  by  heart  from  of  old.  Paris  and  London  were 
nice  as  shows,  but  here  was  home  and  the  old  rock: 
and  she  looked  at  everything  with  the  feelings  of  an 
owner. 

After  her  long  stroll  she  sat  down  in  her  favorite 
spot,  the  Orrock  grave  in  old  St.  Peter's  churchyard, 
and  there  had  a  spell  of  what  she  called  "the  blues." 
Her  future  was  so  dark.  Chris  would  leave  London 
again  before  she  could  leave  Sir  Peter.  Writing  again 
to  Chris,  she  thought,  was  no  good;  she  had  received 
no  answer  to  her  note,  'I  am  at  Orrock';  but  she  had 
such  a  settled  faith  in  her  power  of  "influencing" 
every  one,  that  she  did  not  doubt  that  all  would  be 
well,  if  she  once  got  the  chance  of  "influencing"  him 
at  close  quarters.  However,  he  would  be  off  again 
somewhere,  and  she  was  most  eager  now  to  be  with 
him  because  of  a  thing  which  lay  locked  in  her  bosom, 
unknown,  she  believed,  to  any  one. 

But  the  thing  was  known  to  the  quaint  maid,  who 

[99] 


The  Lost  Viol 

about  that  time  wrote  of  it,  "I  am  burning  with  fever. 
Hannah  is  going  to  have  a  child.  What  a  depth  of 
reserve  must  be  in  the  woman!  Her  mother  or  no 
one  has  the  faintest  suspicion!  I  haven't  slept  the 
whole  night;  read  it  all  in  her  diary  yesterday,  for, 
with  all  her  innate  secrecy,  she  hasn't  a  scrap  of  cau- 
tion, and  leaves  things  about.  I  knew  that  she  keeps 
a  diary,  and  have  often  felt  a  wish  to  read  about  her 
travels,  little  imagining  that  it  would  ever  be  gratified, 
or  that  I  should  read  the  awful  things  that  are  in  that 
book.  Yesterday  when  I  went  down  to  ask  after 
Uncle  Peter,  Miss  Praed  told  me  that  Hannah  was 
with  him,  so,  in  passing  by  Hannah's  room,  I  went  in, 
I  don't  know  why  —  the  pleasure  of  doing  something 
unseen  —  certainly,  I  had  no  thought  of  her  diary : 
but  there  on  the  top  of  her  clothes  it  lay.  She  is  by 
nature  untidy,  I  have  heard  her  mother  say,  and  only 
tidy  by  habit;  her  trunk  lay  open,  a  black  note-book 
on  the  clothes.  I  pounced  upon  it  —  her  diary !  — 
one  of  the  entries  only  a  day  old.  I  stood  just  inside 
the  door,  ready  to  drop  it  and  fly.  How  very  little 
courage  must  the  gods  have  breathed  into  this  box  at 
my  birth!  little  courage,  much  desire.  If  I  had  been 
caught,  I  should  have  died,  but  if  I  had  had  to  die, 
I  should  still  have  read.  There  was  no  real  danger  of 
any  one  coming  for  hours  perhaps,  the  house  up  there 
as  soundless  as  the  grave,  and  I  might  have  read  the 
whole  thing  at  my  ease,  but  read  only  a  few  pages, 
then  threw  it  back,  and  ran.     But  I  had  seen  enough. 

[100] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"She  hasn't  written  it  down  in  so  many  words,  but 
from  hints  in  the  last  few  pages  it  is  evident  that  she 
is  grosse.  I  nearly  fainted.  She  was  at  Chris's  recital ! 
but  how  the  woman  locks  things  up  in  her  interior! 
She  has  given  every  one  the  impression  that  she  has  not 
seen  Chris,  and  now  she  will  have  to  pay  for  it,  for  she 
is  evidently  in  a  pretty  scare  at  what  is  going  to  be 
born  without  any  assignable  father.  Yes,  she  was  at 
the  recital,  followed  Chris  about  London  in  a  cab, 
then  forced  herself  into  his  chambers  at  three  in  the 
morning  when  she  knew  that  he  was  tipsy.  This  is 
the  staid  Hannah  Langler!  What  a  scandal!  Uncle 
Peter's  pet!  the  'saint  of  Woodside!'  'How  enor- 
mously I  loved  that  night,'  writes  this  saint  on  the 
spree.  If  she  had  dropped  dead  at  his  door!  How 
dared  she  ?  What  claim  has  she  upon  Chris,  when 
he  has  shown  clearly  how  he  regards  her?  Her  calm 
self-assurance!  How  I  hate  her!  And  after  wantonly 
drinking  with  him  and  getting  excited,  to  insinuate  to 
herself  that  Chris  drugged  the  wine,  and  to  whine  to 
God  to  forgive  her  on  that  account,  when  she  had  well 
eaten  her  cake!  Oh,  Hannah,  we  are  all  saints  after 
the  fifth  act.     '  Follow  me  as  I  follow  —  Chris ! ' 

"  After  eating  her  cake  she  proceeded  to  steal  Chris's 
viol  de  Gamba,  his  watch  and  chain,  a  ring,  and  a 
brush,  thinking  that,  if  he  forgets  everything,  these 
would  serve  as  proofs  in  case  of  motherhood;  so  this 
explains  the  mystery  of  the  'burglar'  of  which  Chris 
told  me  in  London.     Chris  apparently  has  absolutely 

[101] 


The  Lost  Viol 

forgotten  that  any  one  was  in  his  chambers  that  night, 
so  that,  if  the  proofs  were  stolen  from  Hannah  —  but 
that  way  trouble  lies,  I  mustn't  think  of  that. 

"  The  things  must  lie  in  her  trunk  —  unlocked  — 
easy  enough  to  get  at;  she  is  careless;  and  I  will  surely 
do  it,  if  I  let  my  mind  dwell  upon  it  like  this.  Lord 
keep  me  out  of  all  madness  and  dangers. 

"Uncle  Peter  won't  last  many  days  now,  and  when 
he  is  dead  I  shall  certainly  have  to  fly  from  here;  so, 
if  I  am  to  do  anything  as  to  the  viol  and  trinkets,  it 
must  be  quickly.  They  don't  belong  to  Hannah 
Langler;  I  am  Chris's  cousin;  and  they  should  be  easy 
enough  to  get,  if  I  only  had  the  courage,  if  I  am  not 
too  hopelessly  ill. 

"  If  she  becomes  a  mother,  possessing  these  proofs, 
she  will  have  Chris.  Chris  is  bete,  a  stickler  for  his 
French  '  honor.'  There  isn't  any  hope  left  —  unless 
I  steal  the  things  from  her;  and  I  will,  even  if  I  drop 
with  them  in  my  hands,   .    .    ."  etc.,  etc. 


[  102] 


CHAPTER  X 

The  little  maid  was  soon  making  her  threatened 
attempt  to  take  Hannah's  viol  and  trinkets;  her  diary 
shows  her  thriee  in  Hannah's  room,  but  each  time  she 
found  Hannah's  trunk  locked,  and  the  fierceness  of 
her  wishes  was  such,  that  she  was  even  dreaming  of 
forcing  the  lock,  when  on  the  fourth  morning,  as  she 
was  returning  from  one  of  her  early  walks,  Miss  Olivia 
ran  out  of  the  Hill-house  to  meet  her,  saying,  "  Well,  — 
have  you  heard  the  bell  tolling  ? " 

A  bundle  of  ferns  and  grasses  in  Kathleen's  hand 
trembled. 

"Sir  Peter  passed  away  at  four-fifteen  this  morning," 
said  Miss  Olivia. 

'Thank  God,  I  was  asleep,  Livie,"  breathed  Kath- 
leen in  a  meek  voice. 

"  He  passed  away  peacefully  in  Hannah's  arms  — " 

"Don't  say  'pass  away,'  say  'die.'" 

"But  how  pale  you  have  gone!  Come,  bear  up, 
now.  We  shall  be  going  away  somewhere,  and  you 
will  soon  be  quite  all  right  again." 

"  Livie,  I  have  been  in  Scoble's  Cave  all  alone  for 
twenty  minutes,  getting  dolomites,  never  dreaming  — 

''Well,  but  you  didn't  see  anything!     You  see,  it  is 

[  ™3  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

all  right :  you  are  not  going  to  see  anything,  believe  me. 
Cheer  up,  now.  We  must  all  die,  death  isn't  so  very 
much  — " 

"  Isn't  it  ?  Hasn't  the  very  air  become  sick  with  it  ? 
Oh,  promise  me,  Livie,  that  you  will  be  my  friend  and 
stick  well  to  me!" 

"Of  course,  I  shall  stick  to  you,"  said  Miss  Olivia; 
"what  nonsense!  You  will  soon  be  all  right,  I  tell 
you !    The  funeral  will  be  on  Friday  —  " 

"  Am  I  bound  to  stay  till  the  funeral  ?  " 

"Why,  what  would  people  think?  It  is  only  four 
days  away!  Mr.  Bretherton  has  charge  of  everything, 
is  already  at  the  Hall,  John  says,  and  you  know  that 
he  doesn't  let  the  grass  grow  under  his  feet.  Well, 
well!  Sir  Peter  is  gone,  I  can't  realize  it;  one  by  one 
we  all  go,  and  it  will  be  my  turn  some  day." 

The  quaint  maid  would  not  be  alone  all  that  day; 
in  every  sough  of  the  autumn  wind  a  ghost  sighed 
away  for  her;  death  was  in  her  water  and  food.  But 
the  fly  braved  the  lion  in  his  very  den;  for  toward 
evening  she  went  down  to  the  house  of  death,  which 
fascinated  her.  Hannah  with  the  nurses  and  some 
cronies  were  there,  all  in  one  apartment,  telling  and 
hearing  tales  of  Sir  Peter's  life;  and  Kathleen  came 
also  among  them.  It  was  after  dinner;  the  one  lamp 
in  the  apartment  left  in  shadow  the  portraits  on  the 
wainscot;  in  a  chamber  near  lay  the  body.  Mrs. 
Langler  told  of  one  ghost,  Mrs.  Dene  of  another,  and 
Miss  Praed,  who  was  a  spiritualist,  of  a  third,  while 

[  104] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Kathleen,  saying  never  a  word,  drank  it  all  in,  with 
Miss  Olivia  petting  her  wet  hand.  The  little  maid 
suffered;  but  there  is  a  bliss  in  that  kind  of  sickness, 
as  when  men  can't  help  casting  themselves  into  prec- 
ipices, or  die  adream  in  snow,  or  revel  in  the  trances 
of  drowning. 

"Ever  heard  of  Jig-Butt?"  asked  Hannah  of  Miss 
Praed. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Praed,  all  ears  for  the  twentieth 
anecdote. 

"His  name  is  Butt,  but  we  call  him  Jig-Butt,"  said 
Hannah  with  twinkling  eyes:  "little  ten-acre  farmer 
with  a  wall-eye.  A  set  of  them  were  dancing  at  the 
Orrock  Arms,  when  Sir  Peter  passed,  heard  the  noise, 
and  looked  in.  Everybody  dancing,  except  Jig-Butt 
in  a  corner.  'Well,  Butt,  why  don't  dance?'  asked 
Sir  Peter.  'Lord  bless  us  all,  squire,'  answered  Jig- 
Butt,  '  if  a  man  can't  jig,  he  can't  jig.'  So  ever  since 
then  he  goes  by  the  name  of  Jig-Butt." 

It  cannot  be  written  as  she  told  it.  Her  perfect  way 
of  taking  off  Sir  Peter  and  the  squeaky  country  voice 
saying,  "If  a  man  can't  jig,  he  can't  jig,"  set  all  the 
cronies  laughing. 

"Poor  old  Jig-Butt,"  said  Mrs.  Dene,  as  her  laughter 
died  down. 

"Tell  them,  Hannah,  about  Sir  Peter  and  Harriet 
Davis,"  said  Mrs.  Langler. 

"Oh,  'Rest  1  cannot!"'  cried  Hannah,  nothing  loth, 
with  lively  eyes.     "  Greatest  liar  in  the  world.     Locked 

[105] 


The  Lost  Viol 

up  her  husband  in  their  cottage  one  day,  and  when 
she  came  back  found  him  dead.  So,  five  months  after- 
wards, getting  somehow  into  talk  with  Sir  Peter  in  the 
home-covert,  and  wanting  to  interest  him  in  her,  she 
said,  'I've  heard  an  awful  voice  in  the  night,  squire, 
at  my  bedside.'  '  Hm,  and  what  did  voice  say  ? '  asked 
Sir  Peter.  '  Squire,  I  heard  it  say,  "  Rest  I  cannot  — 
rest  I  cannot  —  rest  I  cannot" — three  times.'  Sir 
Peter  thought  it  over,  and  said,  'Better  not  go  telling 
that  to  any  of  boys  about,  woman.'  'You  think  not, 
squire?'  asked  Harriet  Davis.  'I  do.'  'Then,  squire, 
I  wunt,'  she  said." 

"Ah,  he  had  a  wonderful  dry  way  with  him,"  said 
Mrs  Dene. 

"Aye,  and  a  kindly  heart,  a  kindly  heart,"  added 
Mrs.  Langler.  "There  never  was  another  like  him, 
no,  nor  ever  will  be." 

"Look  at  what  he  did  to  Mrs.  Dawe,"  said  Hannah. 
"You  know,  Miss  Praed,  that  all  this  coast  is  going, 
the  churchyard  itself  —  you  must  have  seen  the  coffin- 
ends  sticking  out  —  they  say  that  some  day  the  sea 
will  be  up  to  Orrock  Park;  well,  Mrs.  Dawe's  cottage 
went  two  years  ago  this  November,  and  being  left 
homeless,  she  didn't,  of  course,  expect  to  have  to  pay 
lease-rent  on  the  bit  of  useless  land  left;  but  Sir  Peter 
said  she  must,  a  bargain  always  a  bargain  for  him  — 
hard  as  nails!  and  oh!  she  was  in  a  way,  poor  thing. 
Two  days  before  Lady-day  she  received  a  heap  of 
bank-notes  —  hundred     pounds  —  brought     them     to 

[106] 


The  Lost  Viol 

show  me,  quite  broken  down,  choking,  made  me  feel 
lumpy  myself,  didn't  know  where  it  all  came  from, 
never  found  out.  Because  he  did  it  to  the  least  of 
these,  God  accept  him." 

"And  he  was  awfully  good  to  those  Prices,  too," 
said  Mrs.  Dene,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"  Ever  heard  of  Brother  Kate  ? "  asked  Hannah  with 
sparkling  eyes.  "  She's  the  eldest  of  the  Price  family. 
One  day  Sir  Peter  met  her  brother  Tom  —  a  boy  of 
six  then  —  so  he  said  to  Tom,  '  Got  an  elder  brother, 
boy  ? '  Now,  Tom  had  had  an  elder  brother,  but  he 
was  dead,  and  the  silly  fellow  answered,  'Yes,  sir.' 
'  What's  name  ? '  asked  Sir  Peter.  Tom  got  confused, 
mixing  up  the  dead  elder  brother  with  his  elder  sister, 
and  he  answered,  'Kate,  sir.'  So  ever  since  the  whole 
family  goes  by  the  name  of  'Brother  Kate';  and  if 
you're  fond  of  black  eyes,  just  murmur  '  Brother  Kate ' 
to  yourself  when  one  of  them  is  about." 

'They  practically  owe  their  farm  to  Sir  Peter,"  said 
Mrs.  Dene. 

"  What  is  that  story  ?  "  asked  Miss  Praed. 

Hannah  told  this  also,  ending  it  with  a  red  nose-tip 
and  wet  eyelashes,  and  so  they  went  on,  telling  anec- 
dotes of  Sir  Peter's  pilgrimage  here  below,  with  anon 
a  weird  story,  talking  of  the  funeral,  of  the  opening  of 
the  grave,  of  how  the  estate  might  be  devised,  and  of 
the  chances  of  Chris  and  Yvonne  coming.  It  was 
near  ten  o'clock  when  the  quaint  maid  spoke  almost 
her  first  word,  and  then  secretly  at  the  ear  of  Miss 

[107] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Olivia —  "'Come  with  me";  and  they  two  went  out, 
almost  unmarked  by  the  others,  who  were  taken  up 
with  their  talk.  In  the  corridor  outside  Kathleen 
whispered  to  the  other,  "You  wait  just  here,  till  I 
come  back." 

"Kathleen,  you  are  not  going  to  dare  look  at  the 
body?"  said  Miss  Olivia,  staring. 

"Perhaps  I  am,  yes,  I  am,"  said  Kathleen.  "Don't 
come  after  me,  wait  just  here,  and  if  you  hear  me 
scream,  run  to  me  round  that  corner." 

"But  you  mustn't!" 

"Sh-h-h  —  have  pity!" 

Kathleen,  as  she  whispered  this,  was  gone.  In  that 
corridor  was  a  door  of  the  death-chamber,  but,  passing 
this,  she  went  round  a  corner  into  another  corridor  in 
which  was  also  a  door  of  the  death-chamber.  Miss 
Olivia  thought  that  she  would  go  in  by  that  second 
door,  but  Kathleen  had  no  intention  of  seeing  the  body, 
and  only  made  that  an  excuse  for  her  going  away, 
crafty  even  in  her  utmost  terror;  her  aim  was  to  get  to 
Hannah's  room  for  a  fourth  try  at  the  trunk,  while 
Hannah  was  gossiping.  It  had  taken  her  two  hours 
to  screw  her  courage  to  the  height  of  daring  the  dead 
man  to  this  extent,  and  now  she  was  in  for  it.  On  she 
hurried  with  that  long-legged  walk  which  hunchbacks 
have,  and  that  swaying  aside  of  the  head  at  each  step. 
The  passing  of  the  second  door  of  the  death-chamber 
was  awful  to  her,  but  the  corridor  being  more  or  less 
lit,  it  was  only  when  she  entered  the  gloom  of  Hannah's 

[108] 


The  Lost  Viol 

room  that  her  fears  became  as  it  were  mortal,  and  her 
face  had  the  ugliness  of  death.  There  was  no  electric 
set  in  the  house,  she  did  not  know  where  to  look  for 
matches,  had  neither  the  power  nor  the  time.  When 
her  eye  fell  upon  the  trunk  and  saw  it  shut,  her  heart 
accused  the  ghost  of  shutting  it  against  her;  and  when 
she  tried  and  found  it  unlocked,  her  heart  accused  the 
ghost  of  leaving  it  unlocked,  in  order  that  he  might 
touch  and  blight  her  during  her  search  for  the  things. 
She  stooped  at  the  trunk,  groping  to  the  bottom,  every 
instant  awaiting  the  icy  hand.  When  she  found  the 
viol,  she  understood  that  she  had  been  allowed  to  find  it 
only  in  order  that  he  might  touch  her  during  her  search 
for  the  smaller  things,  and  her  hairs  bristled  when  the 
wind  stirred  the  arras.  But  Hannah's  clothes  were  not 
many,  and  Kathleen  had  soon  in  her  hand  the  watch 
and  chain,  the  ring,  and  the  nail-brush,  all  in  a  little 
cardboard  box.  She  had  enough  wit  left  to  pat  down 
the  clothes  and  shut  the  trunk  again  —  the  work  of 
an  instant;  and  with  a  gurgle  of  escape  found  herself 
once  more  outside  in  the  light. 

But  having  now  got  the  things  at  so  much  cost, 
what  was  she  to  do  with  them  ?  She  had  not  thought 
of  this,  having  never  believed  that  she  would  really 
get  them.  Hannah,  she  felt,  would  soon  miss  them: 
they  must  not,  therefore,  be  taken  to  the  Hill,  even  if 
she  could  pass  through  the  Hall  without  being  seen 
with  them.  She  had  no  furnace  into  which  to  throw 
them.     If  she  buried  them  outside  the  Hall,  she  felt 

[  109  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

that  the  earth  would  cast  them  up  again,  and  the 
buiying  would  take  time  —  with  Olivia  waiting  for 
her.  In  the  end,  the  thought  arose  in  her  to  hide  them 
in  the  library  bureau,  and  catching  at  the  first  sugges- 
tion, she  was  off  at  once.  A  near  stair  led  down  to  a 
lobby  which  opened  into  the  library,  and  down  this  she 
stole  swiftly.  But  there  was  no  light  down  there,  and 
her  terrors  now  again  thickened  upon  her.  When  she 
stumbled  over  a  bear-skin  in  the  darkness,  she  moaned ; 
but  she  went  straight,  and  reached  her  end.  Knowing 
that  a  bunch  of  keys  often  hung  in  the  center  of  the 
bureau,  she  groped,  but  could  not  find  it;  the  darkness 
was  deep  there;  and  it  was  now  that  it  flashed  upon 
her  that  this  was  the  spot  at  which  she  had  once  opened 
two  oriels  while  Sir  Peter  slept.  Not  another  instant 
would  Kathleen  stay  in  that  place:  she  just  pushed  the 
viol  and  cardboard  box  in  the  space  behind  the  bureau, 
and  moved  away,  her  soul  flying,  but  not  her  feet,  for 
she  feared  to  fly,  rather  moving  slowly,  with  moans. 
It  was  only  when  she  saw  the  light  above  the  stair, 
that  she  flew,  and  only  when  she  was  up  in  the  corridor 
again  that  she  screamed  a  little,  and  presently  fell  with 
a  sob  into  Miss  Olivia's  arms. 

'  You  have  looked  at  the  body  ?  "  asked  Miss  Olivia. 

The  little  maid  could  not  speak,  but  she  nodded. 
She  was  got  home  at  once,  and  had  to  stay  in  bed  three 
days,  even  though  she  knew  that  at  any  moment 
Hannah's  things  might  be  seen  in  that  rather  open 
place  between  the  bureau  and  the  wall.     Every  hour 

[110] 


The  Lost  Viol 

she  waited  to  hear  that  Hannah  had  missed  them  from 
her  trunk;  but  no  news  came.  Those  three  nights  she 
surrounded  her  bed  with  a  crowd  of  women  till  a  late 
hour,  reveling  in  the  terrors  of  the  ghost  stories  which 
they  told ;  when  they  went  away,  Miss  Olivia  remained 
to  sleep  with  her. 

"Will  you  be  able  to  get  up  for  the  funeral,  do  you 
think  ?  "  Miss  Olivia  asked  her. 

;'  You  know  that  I  shan't,"  answered  Kathleen,  who 
did  not  intend  to  be  up  till  the  day  after  the  funeral, 
in  order  then  to  remove  the  viol  and  box  from  behind 
the  bureau. 

"But  you  must  try  to  be  up  for  the  reading  of  the 
will,  you  know,"  said  Miss  Olivia. 

"  The  will?"  breathed  Kathleen  —  she  had  forgotten 
about  the  will.  It  lay  in  that  very  bureau;  it  would 
be  read  on  the  evening  of  the  funeral,  probably;  people 
would  then  be  crowding  about  the  bureau,  might  see 
the  viol  and  box;  or  the  bureau  might  be  moved.  She 
at  once  made  up  her  mind  to  be  up  and  at  the  funeral 
the  next  day,  and  to  remove  the  viol  and  box  before- 
hand. 

After  three  days  of  thought  she  had  decided  to  hide 
the  viol  in  a  coffer  of  which  she  knew  in  a  disused 
region  of  Orrock  Hall,  if  she  could  reach  it  unseen, 
and  to  bury  the  box  in  a  sea-cave.  She  was  wariness 
itself,  understood  that  hidden  things  have  a  way  of 
working  up  into  daylight,  looked  forward  fifty  years, 
and  meant  to  run  as  little  risk  as  possible. 

[Ill] 


The  Lost  Viol 

On  the  funeral  day  she  did  not  drive  down  till  near 
the  "lifting"  hour,  so  that  she  might  act  at  a  time 
when  every  one  was  taken  up  with  what  was  going 
forward.  A  number  of  people  were  already  there, 
their  carriages,  with  the  hearse,  being  drawn  up  before 
the  house.  The  little  maid  easily  escaped  from  among 
the  mourners,  got  into  the  library,  and  saw  behind  the 
bureau  the  viol  and  box  quite  safe.  She  was  too  soon, 
however.  It  would  be  ten  minutes  yet  before  the 
"  lifting,"  when  the  eyes  of  the  servants  and  of  every  one 
would  be  preoccupied.  She  looked  out  from  a  window 
at  the  glass-houses,  but  her  knees  trembled  so  under 
her,  shaking  even  the  black  plume  in  her  hat,  that  she 
had  to  sit  down  at  the  bureau.  It  was  open,  Mr. 
Bretherton,  the  lawyer,  had  been  at  it,  and  it  now 
came  into  Kathleen's  mind  to  read  the  will.  In  this 
she  had  no  motive  save  that  of  doing  something  secretly 
wayward,  and  of  filling  up  the  time  of  waiting;  so, 
unlocking  three  drawers  and  a  panel,  she  penetrated 
to  the  nook  of  the  will,  for  from  childhood  she  had 
thoroughly  known  the  mazes  of  this  old  piece  of  cabinet 
work.  To  her  surprise,  the  will  was  in  duplicate,  for 
Sir  Peter  had  lately  sent  over  for  the  copy  at  Brether- 
ton's  in  order  to  make  some  notes,  but  had  been 
surprised  by  illness  and  death.  Kathleen  glanced 
down  the  parchment,  and  her  glance  caused  her  to 
spring  up  with  wonder  in  her  looks:  everywhere  she 
saw  "  the  said  Hannah  Wilson  " ;  it  seemed  as  if  every- 
thing was  to  be  Hannah's.     She  herself  was  rich  and 

[112] 


The  Lost  Viol 

not  miserly,  wanted  none  of  her  uncle's  wealth,  but 
she  was  offended  at  the  "wrong"  done  to  the  absent 
Chris  and  Yvonne  in  favor  of  this  outsider,  for  the 
estate  was  not  much  entailed;  and  she  was  also  afraid 
of  the  power  of  riches  thus  put  into  the  hands  of 
Hannah.  An  impulse  to  meddle  in  this  overcame  her, 
and  when  she  again  locked  up  the  drawers  of  the 
bureau,  the  two  copies  of  the  will  had  been  pushed 
into  Hannah's  viol  through  the  sound-holes. 

This  new  impulse  drove  her  to  run  to  hide  the  viol 
rather  sooner  than  she  had  meant;  so,  covering  the 
viol  and  box  as  best  she  could  under  her  cape,  she 
came  out  into  the  lobby,  ran  up  the  stairs  into  a  corri- 
dor, passed  Hannah's  room.  No  one  was  to  be  seen, 
but  just  there  by  Hannah's  door  she  heard  behind  her 
a  step  running  up  the  stair.  A  sense  of  the  unseen 
power  that  is  in  the  world  at  once  turned  her  faint. 
The  crazy  thought  came  into  her  mind  that  the  step 
was  Hannah's,  who  must  suspect,  and  was  following 
her;  for  it  sounded  like  a  woman's  step.  In  fact,  it 
was  only  Miss  Olivia's,  who  was  seeking  for  Kathleen ; 
but  there  was  a  moment  when  the  little  maid,  bewitched 
by  it,  was  on  the  point  of  stopping,  of  dropping  every- 
thing, and  of  screaming  out.  However,  she  ran  on. 
The  trinkets  in  the  box  and  the  two  wills  in  the  viol 
made  sounds,  being  shaken  up,  and  the  steps  continued 
to  chase  her,  for  Miss  Olivia  wished  to  ask  whomever 
it  was  that  she  heard  before  her  where  Kathleen  was. 
Here  was  real  trouble  for  Kathleen,  unlike  her  ghostly 

[113] 


The  Lost  Viol 

fears  in  this,  that  in  one's  fear  of  ghosts  there  is  always 
a  doubt  whether  they  are  really  any  ghosts;  but  here 
was  real  trouble  and  shame.  When  she  came  to  the 
first  door  of  the  death-chamber,  the  steps  behind  were 
about  to  turn  a  corner,  and  in  another  moment  Kathleen 
would  have  been  seen,  if  she  had  not  plunged  into  the 
room  with  the  corpse.  There  she  stood,  staring  with 
her  eyes  at  the  coffin,  staring  with  her  ears  at  the 
footsteps.  The  footsteps  came  and  went  past,  but 
even  when  they  were  no  longer  to  be  heard,  Kathleen 
stood  rooted,  unable  to  move.  The  coffin  was  on  the 
bed,  the  dead  man  in  it,  the  sheet  which  had  covered 
it  already  drawn  away,  the  lid  lying  askew  on  it.  The 
chamber  was  large  and  airy.  No  one  was  there.  It 
was  a  sunshiny  afternoon  of  autumn.  Outside  in  the 
dying  year  a  wind  arose  with  the  voice  of  the  viol,  and 
died  away  with  that  universal  meaning  at  which  the 
soul  faints.  The  little  maid  now  lacked  the  power  to 
run  any  farther:  her  eyes  stole  round  the  chamber, 
seeking  a  temporary  hiding-place  for  the  things.  There 
was  the  wardrobe.  She  stepped  toward  that  on  tiptoe, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  coffin.  But  the  wardrobe  would 
not  open  to  her:  she  should  have  turned  the  key  twice, 
but  was  too  much  out  of  herself  to  think  of  this;  and 
while  fumbling,  she  heard  a  troop  of  steps  coming. 
Now  she  stood  at  bay,  feeling  herself  undone:  her 
eyes  moved  basely  a  little  from  side  to  side.  But  all 
at  once  her  craft  sprang  up  and  flourished  in  spite  of 
all  things  against  her,  and  she  was  in  action  the  most 

[114] 


The  Lost  Viol 

gallant,  as  when  little  timid  birds  face  a  wolf.  Her 
eyes,  still  fixed  upon  the  coffin,  saw  the  safest,  surest 
hiding-place  in  the  world.  She  guessed  that  the  foot- 
steps were  those  of  the  undertaker  and  his  men,  coming 
to  screw  down  and  "lift."  She  understood  that  no 
eye  would  peep  into  that  coffin  again  forever:  and 
she  was  soon  touching  what  she  loathed.  Pushing 
the  lid  a  little  more  aside  at  the  foot,  she  fixed  the  viol 
between  the  two  legs  of  the  dead;  in  placing  with  it 
the  little  box,  her  hand  touched  what  was  as  cold  as 
marble.  When  she  had  fixed  the  viol  and  box,  she 
drew  back  the  shroud  over  them  —  all  in  some  seconds. 
The  footsteps  were  now  near,  but  she  had  still  time  to 
take  one  flying  peep  at  the  face,  she  could  not  help  it 
now  that  she  was  so  near:  she  dared  to  lift  the  face- 
cloth a  little,  and  saw  .  .  . 

When  the  men  came  in  the  little  maid  was  kneeling 
at  the  bedside,  sobbing  faintly,  one  of  them  bore  her 
away,  while  the  others  hurriedly  screwed  down,  for 
they  were  some  minutes  late.  Kathleen  lay  on  a  sofa 
shaken  with  sobs  almost  till  the  funeral  started;  a 
month  afterwards  she  wrote  in  her  diary,  "I  am 
perfectly  convinced  that  he  scowled  at  me." 

"We  had  cards  given  us,"  she  wrote,  "to  show  our 
places.  I  drove  behind  Sir  George  Iliffe,  in  front  of 
whom  were  Hannah  and  her  parents.  Olivia  kept 
plying  me  with  smelling-salts.  The  tolling  of  the  bell 
was  awful :  that,  T  think,  is  the  worst  of  all,  the  soprano 
of  the  knells  shivering  at  the  grave.     Who  invented 

[115] 


The  Lost  Viol 

bell-tolling?  How  wild  a  soul!  What  a  poet!  No 
one  knew  how  much  was  being  buried:  only  I.  I  felt 
old  and  wrinkled;  for  doing  certain  things  makes  one 
old.  Moral  people  are  best  off;  but  there  never  were 
any,  and  never  will  be.  We  are  all  alike,  a  saint  is 
the  same  thing  as  a  sinner,  and  all  men  are  liars. 
Very  regrettable  but  true:  fie,  the  hand  of  the  Potter 
shook.  I  shan't  care;  when  you  are  once  on  a  road, 
you  must  go  on.  J'accuse,  et  je  defie!  I  didn't 
fashion  my  soul  any  more  than  I  fashioned  my  back, 
and  we  are  all  humped  inside,  a  happy-go-lucky  crew. 
Look  at  Hannah,  with  her  '  How  enormously  I  loved 
that  night ! '  —  praying,  nursing,  hymn-shouting  Han- 
nah. Christian  talk,  that!  modest  behavior!  I  wish 
she  had  dropped  dead.  She  would  have  loved  just 
the  same  'that  night,'  if  she  hadn't  been  married  to 
Chris,  and  if  she  hadn't  loved  so  'enormously'  I 
shouldn't  have  had  to  bury  her  viol  and  things  deep 
in  brick  whence  even  the  hand  of  Time  shall  never 
unearth  them.  Yes,  Uncle  Peter,  you  loved  her  and 
disliked  me,  in  each  case  without  cause;  but  you  shall 
guard  her  treasure  well  from  her  for  me.  '  The  wicked ' 
mostly  have  their  way  and  'flourish,'  and  the  rewards 
of  vice  and  virtue  are  about  equal.  Vice  is  brackish 
afterwards;  there  is  a  certain  failure  of  satisfaction 
after  the  deed  is  done;  but  virtue  is  bitter  beforehand, 
though  nice  after:  so  they  are  about  equal.  I  am 
pretty  happy  in  my  own  way,  and  will  jog  along. 
It  is  only  a  month  since  the  funeral,  and  already  I  am 

[116] 


The  Lost  Viol 

no  longer  afraid  during  the  daytime;  this  old  Cha- 
teaubrun  of  Yvonne's  is  too  charming  a  place  to  harbor 
many  ghosts.  But  I  suffered  truly  that  day :  the  tolling 
of  the  bell,  and  the  dead-march,  it  can't  be  uttered 
what  they  sang  to  the  very  quick  of  me.  I  wouldn't 
go  into  the  church,  but  the  march  reached  me  outside. 
Then,  standing  about  twenty  yards  from  the  grave, 
I  looked  on  at  the  lowering,  the  horrid  ropes  grating; 
Olivia  could  not  get  me  away;  I  stayed  to  the  very 
end  and  after  it,  till  only  Hannah  was  left,  with  Mrs. 
Langler  and  old  Watts,  the  relieving-officer,  who  was 
one  of  the  pall-bearers.  It  was  nearly  night,  and  still 
they  stood  there,  looking  down,  Hannah  with  a  red 
nose,  at  the  foot  of  the  grave  toward  the  sea.  She 
did  not  know  all  that  was  just  under  her  feet,"  etc,  etc. 


[117] 


CHAPTER  XI 

"Chris  was  staying  with  Count  Orsi  and  giving 
concerts  at  the  Fondo  in  Naples  at  the  time  of  the 
funeral,"  writes  the  quaint  maid  further.  'Yvonne 
was  at  Chateaubrun,  entertaining,  so  couldn't  come. 
I  didn't  mean  to  leave  the  Hill  for  two  days,  for  I  was 
not  ready,  but  the  first  thing  I  heard  on  opening  my 
eyes  the  morning  after  the  funeral  was  that  Hannah 
was  gone;  and  I  at  once  made  up  my  mind  to  go,  too. 
How  crazy,  I  thought,  must  she  be  to  be  with  Chris! 
She  had  hardly  had  the  decency  to  go  home  from  the 
grave  with  her  mother,  when  she  was  off.  She  must 
certainly  have  hoped  that  Uncle  Peter  had  left  her 
something,  but  she  didn't  even  stay  to  see  if  there  was 
a  will,  or  what  was  in  it.  Even  if  Chris  had  been 
nothing  to  me,  the  mere  heat  of  the  woman  to  have 
him  would  have  made  me  wish  to  disappoint  her;  but 
what  irritates  me  most  is  her  calm  assumption  of  owner- 
ship in  Chris,  as  though  she  was  anything  to  him. 
At  any  rate,  she  was  gone,  evidently  without  missing 
the  viol  and  things  from  her  trunk  —  believing  them 
still  there!  She  will  never  now  be  able  to  trace  even 
where  she  lost  them.  I  felt  that  if  she  once  got  at 
Chris,  who  had  been  trying  to  be  good,  and  had  not 

[119] 


The  Lost  Viol 

seen  Yvonne  for  months,  then  Chris  would  easily  be- 
come her  prey,  and  that  nothing  could  prevent  this  — 
except  Yvonne;  and  I  at  once  telegraphed  to  Yvonne, 
begging  her  to  invite  me  to  Chateaubrun,  since  I 
couldn't  stay  at  the  Hill.  I  got  the  answer  at  noon, 
'  Come  at  once ' ;  and  Olivia  and  I  slept  in  London 
that  night. 

"It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  one  any  good,  and 
the  death  of  Uncle  Peter,  besides  making  me  nearly 
twice  as  rich,  has  left  me  as  free  as  a  bird.  True,  he 
never  presumed  when  alive  to  meddle  in  my  goings 
and  comings,  but  he  was  my  '  guardian '  —  tender 
'  guardian ' !  —  and  I  had  the  consciousness  of  his  old 
eyes  and  grumpy  censorship  being  always  there.  That 
first  night  in  London  I  had  such  a  feeling  of  liberation 
and  of  being  out  on  the  spree;  and  Olivia  and  I  en- 
joyed ourselves  thoroughly,  like  Bohemians.  Picca- 
dilly Circus  is  no  fit  place  for  ghosts,  mon  oncle. 

"As  soon  as  we  got  out  of  the  train  at  Liverpool 
Street,  I  sent  a  long  telegram,  like  a  letter,  to  the  Orsi 
Palace,  telling  Chris  that  since  Uncle  Peter  had  died 
intestate,  and  most  of  the  oof  would  be  his,  it  was 
essential  to  his  interests  to  meet  me  after  his  farewell 
at  the  Fondo,  so  that  I  might  talk  over  matters  with 
him;  and  I  added  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  Yvonne  at 
Chateaubrun,  which  would  be  a  good  half-way  meeting 
place. 

"I  thought  to  myself,  'This  will  furnish  an  excuse 
to  his  conscience,  for  he  can  say  to  himself  that  he  is 

[120] 


The  Lost  Viol 

only  coming  on  business,  and,  if  he  has  the  least 
longing  left  to  see  Yvonne,  he  will  deceive  himself,  and 
come.' 

'The  next  morning  I  left  for  Paris,  and  reached 
Toulouse  at  2.15  p.  m.  the  day  after.  Yvonne  was 
outside  the  station  in  a  carriage,  and  almost  her  first 
words  were,  'There  is  a  telegram  for  you  at  the  cha- 
teau.' From  Chris!  '  I  shall  be  with  you  on  Thursday 
the  5th.' 

"  How  I  expected  him  on  that  5th !  and  on  the  6th 
and  7th  the  same  wretchedness  over  again.  He  didn't 
come,  and  I  began  to  make  sure  that  Hannah  had 
entrapped  him. 

"  But  at  eleven  in  the  morning  of  the  8th,  I  on  the 
terrace  saw  him  coming.  I  waved  my  handkerchief 
like  a  flag  of  victory.  There  he  was  in  the  old  short 
jacket,  the  Tyrolese  cloth  hat  on  the  back  of  his  curls, 
and  Grimani  (taken  back  at  last!)  with  the  elaborate 
case  of  the  Joseph  in  his  hand.  Ah,  what  a  different 
Chateaubrun  it  suddenly  became  that  bright  day! 
The  cicadas,  the  trees,  became  parts  of  an  orchestra, 
the  world  turned  into  an  Olympian  concert-hall. 
There  was  no  end  to  the  music  till  dinner,  and,  oh 
Heaven,  what  sweets  that  day!  It  was  one  swoon  to 
me.  Music  isn't  music  in  England,  it  must  be  here 
in  the  South,  where  the  sun  ripens  the  heart  like  a 
grape,  and  sets  the  blood  whispering  like  passionate 
wine;  and  I  am  sure  that  nobody  in  the  world  can 
really  accompany  Chris  but  me:  he  as  good  as  said 

[121] 


The  Lost  Viol 

so;  I  do  it  by  nature,  with  an  over-perfection  and  an 
over-ease  which  purrs  and  becomes  voluptuous. 

'"This  is  a  surprise,  monsieur,'  said  Yvonne  on 
shaking  hands.  I  had  not  told  her  a  word  beforehand, 
for  I  wished  her  to  be  taken  by  surprise,  but  she  got 
through  the  meeting  with  perfect  chic  and  uncon- 
sciousness —  much  better  than  he.  '  Didn't  Kathleen 
tell  you  that  I  was  coming  to  talk  over  some  affairs  ? ' 
he  blurted  out.  Yvonne  looked  at  me  and  said  point- 
edly, '  Kathleen  is  always  at  her  best  when  she  speaks, 
but  she  often  has  reasons  to  be  silent.'  I  disliked  her 
for  it.  I,  too,  have  a  tongue  with  a  point,  and  it  may 
sting  some  day. 

"She  took  no  part  in  the  music  all  the  afternoon; 
her  manner  was  as  if  she  and  Chris  had  not  met  before. 
The  old  baronne  d'Estampe,  looking  like  a  dame 
Louis  Seize,  played  her  old  chords  and  arpeggios  on 
the  harp,  and  Arbos  gave  his  canzonets:  the  rest  was 
Chris  and  I,  Yvonne  meantime  keeping  up  an  elaborate 
gaiety  and  aloofness.  She  loves  Chris,  cela  se  voit. 
In  the  evening  Chris  and  I  in  the  pine-avenue:  Yvonne 
declined  to  come;  and  I  unwisely  glad  of  it.  He  liked 
the  chateau :  '  Charming  place ! '  I  told  him  the  names 
of  plants,  and  showed  him  their  structure.  He  said, 
'You  know  everything;  you  are  both  virtuoso  and 
savant.'  I  suppose  I  am  a  special  little  one  —  better 
somehow  perhaps  in  my  essence  than  anybody!  If  I 
could  only  always  feel  it,  have  the  pluck  of  it !  Then  I 
should  not  struggle  and  stew  in  this  self-consciousness. 

[122] 


The  Lost  Viol 

But  I  am  only  conceited  when  alone.  My  soul  has  no 
skin,  every  wind  blisters  it.  It  is  the  hump!  —  this 
millstone,  this  prison.  '  Oh,  wretched  man  that  I  am, 
who  shall  deliver  me  from  this  dead  body  ? ' 

"I  pretended  great  interest  in  his  Orrock  affairs, 
advised  this  and  that.  'But,'  said  he,  'how  comes  it 
that  our  good  Uncle  Peter  died  without  a  will  ?  I 
distinctly  remember  his  telling  me  that  Hannah  was 
to  be  his  heiress.' 

"'It  happened  so,'  I  said;  'old  men  are  capricious, 
Chris.' 

"'Or,  more  likely,  it  is  a  mere  accident,'  he  said. 
'Perhaps  I  ought  to  make  over  to  Hannah  all  this 
property.  It  will  be  only  fitting,  for  Hannah,  you 
know,  is  not  really  of  yeoman  race  — ' 

" '  What  do  you  mean,  Chris  ? '  I  asked,  too  soon,  for 
he  said,  checking  himself,  'I  am  under  a  promise.' 

"What  could  he  possibly  have  meant?  I  pressed 
him,  but  he  wouldn't  tell.  Something  he  has  dreamt! 
Hannah  would  laugh  to  hear  that  old  Langler  isn't  a 
yeoman.  As  to  making  over  his  inheritance  to  her, 
I  treated  that  with  derision,  telling  him  that  the  world 
is  a  practical  place,  not  cloud-land.  I  hope  I  per- 
suaded him,  but  am  not  sure.  He  couldn't  be  so 
feeble.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  Hannah  since  the 
wedding  night:  his  answer  was,  'You  know  that  I 
have  not  been  to  Norfolk  since.'  This  relieved  me, 
showing  that  he  still  imagines  her  down  in  Norfolk, 
that  he  has  really  forgotten  her  night  in  his  London 

[  123] 


The  Lost  Viol 

chambers,  and  that  she  has  not  run  across  him  during 
his  delay  in  coming  to  Chateaubrun  from  the  5th  to 
the  8th,  though  she  was  then  pretty  certainly  some- 
where about  Naples,  seeking  him.  I  thoroughly  en- 
joyed that  walk  with  him  up  and  down  the  pine- 
avenue,  but  I  saw  that  he  still  thinks  so  much  of 
Hannah,  that,  if  she  once  said  to  him,  '  A  child  is  going 
to  be  born  to  you  and  me,  I  swear  it,'  he  would  be 
inclined  to  believe  her,  however  deeply  buried  in  brick 
the  proofs  of  it  may  be  —  unless  he  had  first  got  well 
entangled  with  Yvonne,  and  so  become  deaf  to  Hannah. 
Yvonne,  as  before,  was  the  pivot.  I  asked  him  how 
long  he  would  be  staying  at  Chateaubrun  ?  He  an- 
swered meekly,  '  I  have  not  been  asked  to  stay.  I  shall 
go  back  to  Toulouse  to-night.'  This  did  not  suit  me. 
When  we  got  back  to  the  terraces  they  were  all  pacing 
about  in  the  moonlight,  with  something  eighteenth- 
century  in  the  scene  of  statues,  waterworks,  and  pacing 
groups.  Yvonne  was  with  de  Marsillac.  I  left  Chris 
with  madame  la  baronne  and  Marthe  Wesendonk, 
and  joined  her.  '  Chris,'  I  said  '  is  going  back  to 
Toulouse  presently.'  'Is  he?'  said  she,  'then  I  must 
give  the  necessary  orders,  or  will  you  see  to  everything  ? ' 
'I  will  see  to  everything  at  once,'  I  said.  At  this  we 
both  stood  silent,  until  she  asked,  'Has  he  a  courier? 
Will  he  be  sleeping  in  Toulouse  ? '  '  Yes,'  I  said,  '  but 
you  know,  Yvonne,  that  there  is  no  really  comfortable 
hotel  in  Toulouse.'  'Oh,  everywhere  is  a  palace  to 
poets,'   said  she;  'but  is  Lady  Wilson  with  him  at 

[  124] 


The  Lost  Viol   ■ 

Toulouse?  I  forgot  to  ask  him.'  'There  is  no  Lady 
Wilson,  Yvonne,'  I  said,  'you  know  that,  though  there 
will  be  one  in  three  days'  time,  if  Chris  is  sent  away.' 
'I'm  glad  of  that,'  said  she;  'you  pronounce  it  like  a 
threat,  but  you  must  mean  it  as  a  promise,  his  wife  is 
in  all  respects  so  admirable  a  lady.'  'That  is  just 
where  the  danger  lies,'  I  said,  vexed,  'in  the  fact  that 
he  thinks  more  of  her  than  of — any  one.'  '  You  ex- 
cepted, I  am  certain,  Kathleen,'  she  said.  'And  you, 
perhaps,'  I  retorted  in  my  rage.  '7  perhaps  and  you 
certainly,'  she  said:  'That  is  an  exception  and  a  half.' 
She  referred  to  my  dwarfishness,  of  course,  and  the 
smartness  of  her  repartees  don't  lessen  their  smart; 
but  her  half-a-cousin  has  finesse,  too,  in  plenty,  when 
collected,  and  my  revenge  may  come.  I  dared  not  hit 
back  then:  my  object  was  to  get  her  to  ask  Chris  to 
stay,  and  I  was  afraid  to  exasperate  her,  though  I 
knew  that  she  was  hungering  to  keep  him.  For  a 
minute  I  was  in  too  much  torture  to  speak.  We  stood 
half  turned  away,  threatening  each  other  to  go,  but 
lingering,  afraid  to  part.  At  last  I  began  to  say, 
'Well,  I  will  go  and  tell  Grimani,'  when  she  said, 
'  Have  you  finished  the  discussion  about  money  matters 
with  your  cousin?'  'Not  quite,'  I  said.  'Well,'  said 
she,  '  as  he  is  such  a  wanderer  —  it  is  nine  months,  for 
instance,  since  I  had  the  honor  of  meeting  Monsieur 
Wilson.'  'That's  not  his  fault,  Yvonne,'  I  said,  'he 
was  under  a  promise  to  Hannah  Langler  with  regard 
to  you.'     '  To  me  ? '     '  Yes,  she  really  would  be  amused, 

[125] 


The  Lost  Viol 

if  you  send  him  away.'  'But  this  is  the  second  time 
you  speak  of  "  sending  him  away  " !  Have  I  not  asked 
him  to  stay  ? '  Thus  ignominiously  mademoiselle  gave 
in  to  her  heart's  lusts.  Nothing  of  the  sort  had  been 
done,  of  course:  she  had  been  tempted  to,  had  resisted 
all  day,  and  now  could  resist  no  longer.  We  are  all 
alike,  hunch  or  no  hunch.  I  said,  '  No,  you  may  have 
meant  to  ask  him,  but  have  forgotten.'  'I  was  almost 
sure  —  Well,  perhaps  you  will  repeat  to  him  my  re- 
quest, Kathleen,'  she  said,  going  quickly  off  to  rejoin 
de  Marsillac.  That  was  nearly  three  weeks  ago,  and 
Chris  must  be  riding  back  with  her  now  from  the 
picnicking  at  La  Risolette,"  etc.,  etc. 


[126] 


CHAPTER  XII 

"Hannah,"  continued  Kathleen  a  little  later,  "is 
in  Paris.  I  have  a  letter  from  her.  She  has  heard 
from  her  parents  that  I  am  at  Chateaubrun,  and  asks 
if  I  can  give  her  any  hint  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
Chris!  I  am  afraid  that  Chris  is  also  at  Chateaubrun, 
and  enjoying  himself  very  much  indeed,  but  what 
business  can  that  be  of  Miss  Langler  of  Woodside  ? 
She  flew  from  the  graveside  of  Uncle  Peter  to  Italy, 
knowing  that  Chris  was  playing  at  the  Fondo;  but  by 
the  time  she  reached  Naples  he  had  got  my  telegram 
summoning  him  to  Chateaubrun.  He  stopped  on  his 
journey  to  give  a  concert  at  the  Milan  Scala,  and 
she  followed  to  Milan,  but  a  day  too  late.  Chris  had 
left  for  Chateaubrun.  So,  on  losing  him,  she  went 
back  to  Paris,  which  seems  to  be  her  headquarters, 
and  is  there  waiting  till  he  turns  up  somewhere. 

"  She  writes  a  lot  of  tattle  about  Orrock  affairs,  such 
as  that  my  groom  Parker  has  influenza,  that  a  bit  of 
coast  has  slipped  just  south  of  Wardenham,  etc.,  etc.: 
no  one  would  imagine  that  she  has  a  great  grief  gnaw- 
ing at  her.  No  reproach  at  not  being  left  anything  by 
Uncle  Peter,  not  a  mention  about  the  viol  and  box; 
but  this  mayn't  mean  that  she  hasn't  discovered  their 

[127] 


The  Lost  Viol 

loss,  for  miss  (or  Mrs.  ?)  certainly  doesn't  wear  her 
heart  on  her  sleeve.  She  must  have  found  out  by  this 
time;  and  what  a  tenfold  mystery  to  her!  They  are 
buried  pretty  deep,  my  Hannah,  and  you  feel  now, 
don't  you,  how  headlong  and  naughty  it  was  of  you 
to  forget  all  the  hymns  and  texts,  and  force  yourself 
into  Chris's  chambers  that  morning  ? 

"  I  doubt  if  she  will  ever  now  get  Chris.  My  scheme 
here  has  prospered  more  than  I  care  to  witness.  Chris 
is  as  badly  in  love  again  as  ever  he  was  at  Orrock,  and 
Yvonne  ten  times  more  so.  No  Frenchwoman  loves 
quite  disinterestedly:  Chris  with  two  decorations,  fore- 
run by  a  shudder  of  expectancy  in  every  town  which 
he  enters,  is  not  the  same  boy  of  ten  months  ago;  and 
because  he  is  more,  she  loves  him  more.  I  alone 
should  love  him  as  well  in  rags,  so  no  one  has  any  real 
right  to  him  but  me. 

"The  day  before  yesterday  Yvonne  went  into  a  sort 
of  hysterics.  It  was  down  at  the  village,  where  a  lot 
of  us  had  gone  to  patronize  the  fete  in  the  afternoon. 
We  had  left  Chris  at  the  chateau,  practising  in  his 
rooms.  Yvonne  drove  with  de  Marsillac,  flirting  as 
ostentatiously  as  usual.  I  was  in  the  brougham  with 
the  Comtesse  Choderlos  de  Hanska.  We  left  the 
carriages  at  the  Villa  des  Sapins,  and  walked  down  to 
look  at  the  fete.  It  was  jolly  —  a  great  crowd  of 
people  in  bright-colored  clothes.  I  don't  know  how 
de  Marsillac  lost  Yvonne,  but  presently  she  was  missed. 
I  suspected  that  she  might  have  a  rendezvous  with 

[128] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Chris,  and  this  sent  me  looking  for  her  in  the  Sapins 
(pine-wood).  She  had  no  rendezvous,  however,  for  I 
and  the  comtesse,  who  would  come  with  me,  found 
her  sitting  alone  on  a  tree-trunk  in  the  forest-glade 
which  they  call  'le  Rond  Point.'  There  she  sat,  her 
face  buried  in  her  hands;  and  the  moment  the  comtesse 
spoke  to  her,  Yvonne  burst  out  into  the  most  aston- 
ishing laughter  and  sobbing,  like  hysterics.  Her  face 
was  just  crimson,  and  I  never  heard  such  a  thing,  it 
made  me  want  to  laugh  and  cry  myself. 

"  Old  Choderlos  de  Hanska  put  her  hand  on  mine 
as  we  two  were  driving  home  again,  saying,  '  My  dear, 
after  what  we  have  witnessed  together,  there  is  no 
longer  any  indelicacy  in  expressing  ourselves  to  each 
other,  for  here,  you  have  seen,  is  that  which  demands 
discussion.' 

"So  it  seems,  madame,'  I  said,  thinking  to  myself, 
'Words,  mere  words.' 

'If  ever  a  poor  child  was  in  the  grip  of  a  tragic 
destiny,'  the  old  chatterbox  went  on,  'it  is  this.' 
'But  why  tragic,  madame?'  I  asked. 

" '  Because  the  cause  of  that  which  is  about  to  over- 
take her  is  in  herself,'  she  said,  'and  because  she  has 
struggled  so  desperately  and  so  vainly  against  herself 
and  her  destiny.  It  is  said,  my  dear,  that  "even  the 
gods  weep  to  see  a  good  man  struggling  in  vain  with 
misfortune."  Here  you  have  a  good  girl,  striving  with 
all  her  heart  to  keep  the  moral  law,  but  little  by  little 
losing  ground  and  hope.     It  has  even  made  me  shed  a 

[129] 


The  Lost  Viol 

tear  to  notice  her  punctuality  on  her  religious  duties  at 
the  church  of  late.' 

"I  tried  to  imagine  the  old  monkey's  tear  tearing 
a  ravine  through  paste,  like  a  geologic  river;  she 
daren't  cry,  except  in  the  mornings.  'But  I  thought 
that  Yvonne  pretends  to  be  a  pantheist,'  I  murmured. 

"'Ah,  my  dear,'  said  the  old  windbag,  'but  when 
we  need  a  God,  we  reconstruct  Him.  Yvonne's  father 
and  mother  were  both  good  Christians,  and  this  disease 
in  her  blood  is  all  the  more  awful  to  her  because, 
having  been  practically  her  own  mistress  since  their 
death,  she  has  grown  accustomed  to  feel  the  responsi- 
bility of  her  conduct  and  of  her  high  name.  For  the 
first  time,  she  now  finds  herself  dragged  along  a  path 
which  is  repugnant  to  her  principles  and  her  tastes.' 

"'Why  doesn't  she  marry  Monsieur  de  Marsillac, 
who  adores  her?'  I  said,  'then  as  a  married  woman  she 
could  more  properly  contract  a  liaison  with  Monsieur 
Wilson.' 

" '  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  advise  her  in  that  very 
sense,'  said  madame,  'but  the  poor  girl  has  answered 
me  only  with  her  shoulder.  Yvonne's  mother  was  an 
English  lady,  and  her  own  point  of  view  is  modified  in 
an  English  way.  No,  there  is  no  solution  but  one: 
it  is  much  to  be  desired  that  Monsieur  Wilson  could 
be  induced  to  depart  from  Chateaubrun.' 

'You  should  try  to  induce  him,  madame,'  I  said. 

"'77'  murmured  the  old  thing,  lifting  her  hands  in 
dainty  horror. 

[130] 


The  Lost  Viol 

'"It  cannot  be  done,  madame,'  I  said:  'it  would  be 
intolerable,  if  any  one  presumed  to  interfere.  And 
what  would  happen,  if  he  did  go  ?  Yvonne  would  only 
become  ill.' 

'She  is  ill  now,'  madame  answered:  'Ernestine 
assures  me  that  she  paces  her  room  far  into  the  morn- 
ings, and  has  dreams  from  which  she  awakes  with 
cries;  and  you  have  observed  her  looks.' 

'I'm  afraid  I  can't  sympathize  with  all  that  fuss,' 
I  said.  '  The  affair  is  a  very  ordinary  one,  only  Yvonne 
happens  to  be  of  noble  blood.' 

'But  that  is  not  precisely  where  the  thorn  pierces 
her,  I  am  certain,'  said  madame,  'but  in  the  fact  — 
is  it  not  a  fact  that  Monsieur  Wilson  possesses  a  wife  ?' 
"I  smiled  without  answering. 

"'I  happen  to  have  reasons  for  believing  it,  my 
dear,  and  you  know  that  nothing  ever  escapes  my  old 
lips,  so  you  may  be  open  with  me.  In  fact,  Yvonne 
has  as  good  as  admitted  it  to  me  —  an  English  wife. 
Well,  I  believe  that  that  is  where  this  poor  child  is 
excruciated:  she  is  unwilling  to  wrong  that  other 
woman.  It  seems  a  little  unworldly,  but  then  Yvonne 
is  a  young  girl,  with  a  still  tender  conscience.  Tell  me, 
is  not  the  name  of  that  wife  "  Hannah  "  ? ' 

'How  can  you  know,  madame?'  I  asked. 

'Tell  me  if  it  is  so,  and  I  will  then  tell  you  how  I 
know.' 

'"Well,  yes.' 

'I  thought  it!     For,  two  mornings  ago,  Yvonne,  on 

[131] 


The  Lost  Viol 

being  startled  out  of  sleep  by  a  vase  dropped  from 
Ernestine's  hands,  broke  into  sobs,  repeating  many 
times  that  word,  "  Hannah,  Hannah.  "  She  had  been 
dreaming  of  this  "Hannah,"  and  there,  be  sure  of  it, 
is  where  the  ache  lies.' 

" '  Well,  it  seems  a  ease  for  the  physician,'  I  said  — 
'a  little  phosphorus,  perhaps.  This  only  comes  of 
people  allowing  their  desires  to  wander  upon  forbidden 
objects.' 

'"It  is  true,'  said  she,  'the  earth  has  sun-stroke,  but 
from  habit  I  prefer  it  to  Utopia,  my  dear.  This  poor 
child  can't  be  stoned  by  me,  for,  providentially,  I  also 
am  not  without  sin.  You,  no  doubt,  are:  it  is  all  a 
relation  between  temptation  and  strength.  In  the  case 
of  Yvonne,  you  have  a  poor  child  fighting  a  real  battle 
in  loneliness,  without  help  or  sympathy.  Her  guar- 
dians are  merely  well-wishers;  her  friends  are  merely 
visitors;  you,  her  cousine,  recommend  phosphorus;  I, 
her  great-aunt,  try  to  be  distressed,  but  at  my  age, 
after  the  life  of  fashion,  one  is  no  longer  distressed  at 
anything,  except  at  a  disturbance  in  one's  habits. 
Old  people  are  as  selfish  as  babies  — " 

: '  Oh,  but  you  are  not  in  your  second  childhood  in 
that  respect,  madame,'  I  murmured,  giving  it  back  to 
her  for  her  'temptation  and  strength';  she  answered 
something,  but  the  carriage  was  passing  over  gravel, 
I  didn't  hear,  and  immediately  afterwards  we  got  out. 

'  Yvonne  arrived  soon  afterwards,  '  retired,'  and  did 
not  appear  at  dinner,  which  was  a  failure.     Chris  had 

[  132] 


The  Lost  Viol 

nothing  to  say,  de  Marsillac's  Parisian  lightness  seemed 
to  have  got  a  wetting,  and  the  Conseilleur  Municipal 
and  old  Choderlos  de  Hanska  were  allowed  to  talk  to 
the  air  absolutely  without  pause.  Chris  escaped  at 
the  first  chance.  I  didn't  know  where  he  had  gone, 
went  to  spy,  and  after  a  search  saw  him  in  that  out- 
of-the-way  balcony  behind  the  armory  on  the  south, 
near  the  precipice.  He  was  pacing  up  and  down 
pretty  quickly.  The  trellis-work  being  thick  with 
vine,  except  over  the  three  steps  in  the  center,  I  got 
up  to  it  without  being  seen,  and  sat  down  on  the  old 
horse  trough  there,  just  to  be  near.  He  made  those 
old  worn  dalles  of  the  balcony  hold  ground.  I  didn't 
know  before  he  ever  went  there.  Couldn't  see  him, 
but  could  hear  his  tread,  and  smell  his  cigar,  the 
darling  god;  buried  my  head  in  its  wrap  in  the  vine 
leaves,  and  closed  my  eyes.  It  was  dark  there  in  spite 
of  bright  moonlight,  the  air  heavy  with  maples  and 
wild  sarsaparilla  that  grow  down  to  the  precipice-edge, 
hosts  of  cicadas  screeching,  with  a  tinkling  of  the  piano 
from  far  away.  Chris  must  have  had  some  musical 
thought  in  him;  now  and  again  he  hummed,  just  a 
murmur.  I  was  enjoying  too  deeply  to  move,  but 
after  a  time  had  begun  to  think  of  speaking  to  him 
about  the  signing  of  the  lawyer's  documents  from 
England,  when  I  heard  some  one  with  him.  My  heart 
all  at  once  was  beating  awfully.  It  was  Yvonne. 
'  She  is  not  too  unwell  for  this,'  I  thought,  and  I  pushed 
my  ear  well  into  the  bush  to  hear. 

[133] 


The  Lost  Viol 

'"Ernestine  has  told  me  that  you  were  here,  Chris,' 
I  heard  her  say,  '  so '  —  something  lost  — '  the  answer 
which  you  demand  of  me.' 

'"Mum,  mum,  mum,'  from  Chris;  I  couldn't  hear! 
They  stood  fifteen  yards  away. 

'.  .  .  Believe  me,'  from  Yvonne,  'risen  from  my 
knees  before  my  Creator  to  come  here  to  you,  hum, 
hum,  hum.'  If  they  had  only  spoken  in  English!  I 
might  have  caught  more. 

'Mum,  mum,  I  prefer  you  to  all  things,'  from 
Chris:  'nothing  is  sacred  but  you  .  .  .  God  is  less 
than  Love  .  .  .  mum,  mum,  ethics  is  for  unmusical 
souls  who  need  a  lower  guide  .  .  .  Love  in  itself  is 
right,  and  is  enough  .  .  .  love  like  ours  ...  love, 
love '  —  they  say  it  must  have  been  grand  to  see  Will 
Shakespeare  in  love,  but  wild-hearted  Chris!  I  felt 
to  my  heart  the  boundless  throbbings  of  his,  but 
couldn't  hear!  the  cicadas  screeching  in  my  ears. 

"'Do  not  mistake  me,'  from  Yvonne:  'the  doing  of 
what  is  right  has  been  made  too  terribly  hard  a  task! 
Hum,  hum,  hum,  I  have  suffered,  mon  ami,  yes,  I 
have  suffered,  hum,  hum,  but  I  love  you  too  much, 
Chris,  my  soul  ...  I  am  too  ill  now  ...  I  can  no 
longer  bear  it  .  .  .  the  great  decision  of  our  lives  rests 
henceforth  with  you.' 

" '  Mum,  mum,  mum,'  from  Chris,  '  nothing  is  so 
great  as  infinity,  mum,  mum.'  I  heard  her  better 
than  him,  he  mumbles  so,  his  tongue  is  in  his 
fingers. 

[134] 


The  Lost  Viol 

'In  ten  days  my  guests  will  have  departed,'  from 
Yvonne;  'you  love  me  .  .  .  tell  me  then  .  .  .  you  are 
my  supreme  ...  do  not  fear  .  .  .  claim  that  which 
is  yours,  nothing  shall  dare  oppose  you  .  .  .  seize  me, 
have  me,  destroy  me,  kill  me  .  .  .  death  ...  I  know 
that  it  will  end  all,  hum,  hum,  hum.' 

" ' .  .  .  destiny,'  from  Chris,  '  the  grave  itself,  mum, 
mum,  Love  like  ours  ...  is  itself  a  law-giver  .  .  . 
destiny  .  .  .  cannot  be  defeated,  mum,  mum,'  then 
the  wretched  castle-bell  began  that  sort  of  curfew 
which  they  ring  here,  and  for  two  minutes  I  could 
hear  nothing.' 

'.  .  .  these  sorts  of  relations,'  from  Yvonne  .  .  . 
'ashes,  hum,  hum,  contempt  .  .  .  twenty  years  .  .  . 
Virtue  alone  is  incorruptible  .  .  .  poor  mortals  .  .  . 
nets  for  our  feet  .  .  .  the  road  to  death,  mon  ami ! '  — 
with  a  sob. 

'To-day  is  as  good  as  to-morrow,'  from  Chris  — 
'better,  for  we  are  younger  to-day  .  .  .  next  summer 
as  unimportant  as  last  summer,  mum,  mum,  you  may 
love  me  less.' 

"'.  .  .  dreams,'  from  Yvonne,  'Hannah,  your 
wedded  wife  ...  a  good  woman  .  .  .  speaking  to 
me,  pleading  with  me,  warning  me,  as  plainly  as  I  see 
you  now  ...  a  very  strange  thing  .  .  .  you  can  see 
that  I  am  ill  .  .  .  the  voices  of  destiny,  hum,  hum, 
hum,  will  end  in  sorrow.' 

.  .  .  Things  are  as  they  are,'  from  Chris,  '  we 
did  not  make  the  world  .  .  .  excellent  woman!  .  .  . 

[135] 


The  Lost  Viol 

out  of  relation  with  my  longings  .  .  .  dare  everything, 
sacrifice  everything  .  .  .' 

" '  Yes !  yes ! '  from  Yvonne ;  '  my  guests  will  have  de- 
parted .  .  .  twelve  days  .  .  .  Venice  .  .  .  even  one 
year  of  heaven  ...  I  shall  have  lived  .  .  .  after- 
wards one  may  die,  hum,  hum,  hum,  Ernestine,  mon 
ami  .  .  .  must  go  away  .  .  .  soon,  soon.' 

" '  .  .  .Write  it  in  a  song  of  joy,'  from  Chris,  '  how 
amiable!  .  .  .  thievish  feet  of  love  .  .  .  Mmm  .  .  . 
joy  forever  .  .  .  kiss  .  .  . 

"'Yes!  give!'  from  Yvonne,  now  first  tutoying  him 
— '  Oui!  donne! '  —  and  I  knew  that  they  were  kissing. 
For  some  minutes  I  must  have  fainted  away  just  then, 
I  don't  remember  the  moment  at  which  Yvonne  left 
him.  I  wondered  at  myself  for  letting  her  go  without 
flying  at  her;  it  seemed  that  nothing  was  left  me  now 
but  to  throw  my  wretched  frame  into  that  precipice 
not  twenty  yards  off;  but  I  had  no  strength  left  even 
for  that,  I  simply  sat  with  my  head  in  the  vine,  and 
suffered  my  forlornness.  Lord,  what  a  pain  it  is!  I 
felt  how  God  had  made  me  ugly,  wretched,  unloved, 
wretched,  wretched,  unchangeably,  Lord  God,  Lord 
God.  If  their  sweet  carryings-on  were  bad  for  Hannah, 
they  were  as  bad  for  me;  but  it  was  all  my  own  doing, 
I  had  no  right  to  complain.  Why  had  I  brought  Chris 
here?  To  keep  him  from  Hannah,  forsooth!  with 
some  notion  in  me  that,  since  he  is  married  and  can't 
be  Yvonne's  husband,  then,  at  some  far-off  day,  he 
may  somehow  be  mine.     Weak  dream !     He  thoroughly 

r  i36i 


The  Lost  Viol 

belongs  to  Yvonne  now  anyway,  may  always,  and  what 
do  I  care  whether  he  is  Yvonne's  or  Hannah's,  if  he  is 
not  mine?  Certainly,  I  never  felt  toward  Hannah 
quite  the  same  cat-o'-mountain  rancor  that  I  felt  for 
Yvonne  that  night.  I  don't  know  what  kept  my  hands 
from  her,  for  I  longed  to  see  both  him  and  her  struck 
down  in  the  height  of  their  selfish  bliss,  the  two  wantons. 
If  I  hadn't  fainted  when  they  kissed,  perhaps  I  should 
have  done  something,  for  in  my  highest  moments, 
when  I  am  white-hot,  this  little  hunchback  towers  a 
head  taller  than  everything,  casts  off  fear  like  a  cloak, 
and  her  will  is  done.  No  one  had  better  make  me  mad. 
"  Chris  remained  alone  on  the  balcony  a  long  while ; 
he  must  have  brought  one  of  his  counterfeit  Guar- 
neriuses  with  him,  for  he  presently  began  to  play, 
rendering  an  Ernst  reverie  with  delicious  peace  and 
intimite.  He  seemed  to  do  it  to  console  me.  I  waited 
on  till  he  went  away  near  eleven." 


[137] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"The  same  night,"  continued  the  quaint  maid  two 
days  later,  "  that  Chris  and  Yvonne  met  on  that  south 
balcony,  Monsieur  de  Ballu,  the  notaire,  came  over 
from  Toulouse  on  a  visit.  In  passing  through  the 
salon,  meaning  to  go  to  bed,  I  saw  his  old  rat-face, 
which  resembles  Robespierre's.  All  these  old  fogies 
down  here  have  an  eighteenth-century  air  to  me.  De 
Ballu  is  Yvonne's  parrain  (godfather),  and  one  of  the 
guardians  and  administrators.  I  noticed  him  deep  in 
talk  with  old  Choderlos  de  Hanska  in  a  far  part  of  the 
salon,  while  his  mountain  of  a  wife  spoke  with  Olivia 
and  the  Conseilleur  Municipal.  Little  did  I  dream 
what  trouble  that  old  man  was  even  then  hatching  for 
my  poor  head. 

"The  next  morning,  while  I  was  being  dressed, 
Olivia  came  with  the  news  that  Chris  had  gone  off  to 
Toulouse.  '  What  on  earth  for  ? '  I  asked.  She  didn't 
know.  I  went  down  late  with  a  headache  to  second 
dejeuner.  A  few  people  were  still  there,  among  them 
old  Choderlos  de  Hanska,  who,  as  she  rose  from  table, 
passed  by  me,  saying  in  that  sort  of  court  whisper  in 
which  the  French  monde  is  expert,  'All  will  be  well: 
Monsieur  Wilson  has  gone  to  Toulouse  to  interview 

[139] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Monsieur  de  Ballu.'  Before  I  could  say  a  word  the  old 
windbag  was  gone,  with  her  finger  on  her  lips.  I  was 
perfectly  astonished.  What,  I  wondered,  could  Chris 
possibly  have  to  say  to  this  old  French  lawyer,  or  he 
to  Chris  ? 

"I  was  soon  to  know!  Chris  came  back  about 
two-thirty  o'clock.  I  was  at  a  window  of  that  huge 
old  room  on  the  ground  floor  which  they  call  'the 
salle,'  looking  out  for  him.  He  got  out  of  his  carriage 
precipitately,  looking  flushed  and  radiant.  As  he  was 
passing  by  me,  I  stepped  out  to  him.  'Why,  Cousin 
Chris,'  I  said  in  a  wretchedly  sycophant  voice,  'I  have 
hardly  spoken  a  word  with  you  for  two  days.'  I  was 
the  last  thing  in  the  world  of  which  he  was  thinking  at 
that  moment!  'Mmm,  my  own  dear  friend,'  he  said, 
'  forgive  me.  Much  has  been  going  forward  —  but 
you  will  soon  hear.'  'What  is  it?  You  have  been  to 
Toulouse — '  'We  will  speak  together,'  he  said,  and 
was  gone  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  As  he  entered  the 
house,  I  flew  to  watch,  and  caught  sight  of  him  going 
up  the  branch  of  the  stair  which  leads  to  Yvonne's 
quarters ;  so  whatever  was  the  matter  concerned  Yvonne. 

"I  was  on  thorns.  I  went  searching,  for  the  second 
time,  for  old  Choderlos  de  Hanska.  They  said  she  was 
taking  siesta;  then  I  found  Olivia  at  the  salon  piano, 
and  asked  if  madame  la  comtesse  had  not  said  anything 
about  the  object  of  Chris's  interview  with  old  de  Ballu. 
'Not  a  word,'  she  answered.  I  had  to  wait  about  in 
suspense,  the  house  very  still  and  dull,  a  party  of  them 

[  140] 


The  Lost  Viol 

having  gone  riding  to  Moulin  Chantepleure,  the  rest 
were  scattered  about  the  salon,  verandas  and  terraces, 
or  taking  siesta,  the  sun  blazing,  the  ladies  as  lightly 
clad  as  a  man  could  wish,  and  strains  of  studies  in 
chords  reaching  one's  ears  from  time  to  time.  They 
have  always  been  sweet  to  me,  those  strains  of  Chris's 
riddle,  for  I  have  thought  then, '  He  is  not  near  her  now, 
nor  thinking  of  her.'  At  last  Choderlos  de  Hanska 
came,  with  a  raw  look  of  sleep  in  her  eyes,  — ghastly  old 
thing,  I  hate  her.  I'd  rather  be  a  young  hunchback 
than  an  old  beauty.  She  melted  into  smiles  and  nods 
on  seeing  my  anxious  face,  and  I  got  her  out  to  the 
salon  balcony,  where  we  were  alone.  'What,  then,  is 
happening?'  I  asked. 

'Ma  cher-r-e,  it  has  all  come  about  by  the  most 
extraordinary  Providence  — ' 

'But  what?'  I  asked,  dreading  a  rigmarole. 
'Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  even  yet  surmise 
that  there  is  about  to  be  a  wedding  among  us  ? ' 

"'Between?' 

"'Monsieur  Wilson  and  Yvonne.' 

"'A  wedding/1 

'"A  wedding.' 
'I  suppose  you  jest,  madame,'  I  said,  'since  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Monsieur  Wilson  is  already 
married.' 

'  Ma  cher-r-e,  I  never  jest  after  siesta,''  said  the  old 
hag.  'Don't  be  so  astonished.  When  Providence 
wishes  to  witness  a  situation,  it  devises  it.     Listen,  and 

[141] 


The  Lost  Viol 

you  shall  hear.  Last  night  Monsieur  de  Ballu  was 
here.  You  must  have  seen  him.  He  and  I  were  in 
conversation,  when  he  happened  to  mention  the  case 
of  one  of  his  clients  who,  having  set  up  a  business  in 
London,  married  an  English  lady,  but  the  marriage 
was  unhappy,  and  the  young  man,  on  returning  to 
France,  married  a  lady  of  Toulouse.  I  had  no  idea 
that  this  could  be  done,  and  expressed  my  astonishment 
at  it,  but  Monsieur  de  Ballu  assured  me  that  the  affair 
was  quite  formal,  since  the  marriage  in  London  had 
not  taken  place  before  a  French  consul,  and  was  there- 
fore null  and  void  in  France,  the  bridegroom  being  a 
French  citizen.' 

"My  heart  ceased  to  beat;  I  could  only  just  groan 
something  about  'some  mistake,'  and  'what  madmen 
could  make  such  a  law.' 

" '  Laws  are  like  the  scheme  of  things,  my  dear,'  she 
said,  'they  only  seem  mad  because  we  others  do  not 
know  the  spirit  of  them.  At  any  rate,  when  I  heard 
this,  Monsieur  Wilson  and  Yvonne  of  course  leapt  into 
my  mind.  I  ventured  to  recount  everything  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Ballu,  and  it  was  then  decided  between  us 
that  all  would  be  well,  provided  that  the  musician  is 
really  a  French  citizen,  and  provided  that  his  English 
marriage  did  not  take  place  in  the  presence  of  a  French 
consul.  If  these  two  things  are  so,  he  can  marry 
Yvonne,  and  I  have  just  received  a  telegram  from 
Monsieur  de  Ballu  assuring  me  that  they  are  so.' 
; '  But  is  not  Hannah,  then,  his  lawful  wife  ? ' 

[  142] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"'Oh,  yes  —  in  England;  not  in  France.' 
'So  a  Frenchman  can  have  two  lawful  wives  in 
Europe  ? ' 

"'Yes,  four  or  five.' 

'"Oh,  but,  madame,  what  lunacy!' 

'"I  thought  you  would  be  pleased,'  she  sighed. 
'I  am  most  pleased!'  I  answered,  like  a  fool,  'but 
who,'  I  groaned,  'could  be  expected  to  know  this 
obscure  French  law  in  the  country  parts  of  England  ? 
Chris  married  in  all  good  faith,  not  dreaming  —  no 
one  dreamed  -  We  all  assumed  that  Chris  was  an 
Englishman:  his  father  was  English-born,  his  mother 
an  English  woman  — ' 

'All  that  does  not  alter  the  law,  ma  cher-r-e,'  she 
said.  'French  laws  are  not  made  for  the  benefit  of 
English  ladies,  but  for  the  amusement  of  French  men. 
And,  after  all,  what  harm  is  done  ?  One  wife  in 
England  and  another  in  France  are  only  two,  nor  can 
they  be  jealous  the  one  of  the  other,  for  each  will 
consider  the  other  a  mistress.  As  for  me,  I  am  a  good 
Catholic,  my  dear,  but,  between  us,  Mahomet  was  also 
a  prophet.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  is  not  polygamy 
more  general  in  Paris  than  in  Cairo  —  ? ' 

'But  at  any  rate,  Hannah  is  his  wife  in  England/3 
I  cried.  'English  law  isn't  going  to  permit  him  to 
remarry  in  France,  even  though  French  law  does.' 

"'No,  his  marriage  in  England  is  final  from  the 
English  point  of  view,'  she  said,  '  so,  if  he  remarries  in 
France,   he   will   return   to  England   at  his  own  risk, 

[  143  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Monsieur  de  Ballu  even  says  that  to  a  bigamy  of  that 
sort  English  justice  would  show  itself  extremely  severe 
—  if  it  knew  of  it.  But  then,  geniuses  are  exempt 
from  everything.' 

" '  They  are  not  —  not  in  England !  I  cried,  for  I 
couldn't  restrain  my  rage,  '  and  that  settles  it,  for  Chris 
will  often  have  to  be  in  England,  and  surely  Yvonne 
would  never  expose  him  to  this  awful  risk  — ' 

"'That  is  not  the  point  with  Yvonne,  the  risk,'  she 
answered;  'she  has  not  thought  of  that,  and,  in  fact 
the  risk  is  very  slight,  my  dear,  whatever  you  may  say 
of  it.  But  the  point  with  Yvonne  is  the  other  lady. 
She  absolutely  refuses  to  marry  Monsieur  Wilson. 
After  his  interview  with  Monsieur  de  Ballu  this  morn- 
ing, Monsieur  Wilson  hastened  with  the  good  news  to 
Yvonne's  apartments,  and  Ernestine,  who  partly  over- 
heard their  interview,  tells  me  that  Yvonne  first  waltzed 
about  the  room  with  glee,  then  suddenly  changed,  and 
in  the  end  refused  to  hear  of  the  marriage.  She  said 
that,  even  if  she  was  willing  to  wrong  the  other  lady  to 
the  extent  of  entering  into  a  liaison  with  her  husband, 
bearing  the  shame  of  it  while  enjoying  the  sin,  yet  she 
was  not  so  wicked  as  to  shelter  herself  behind  an 
international  quibble  and  legally  usurp  one  who  is 
already  another's.  "The  word  'wife'  has  no  plural, 
Chris,"  the  poor  child  said.  I  don't  know  in  what 
grammar  she  found  it;  in  my  time  it  was  'wives'  that 
had  no  singular,  except  in  the  breviary.  So  for  the 
present  there  is  a  deadlock.     But  sufficient  pressure, 

[144] 


The  Lost  Viol 

you  may  be  sure,  will  be  brought  to  bear  upon  Yvonne 
to  induce  her  to  be  more  worldly.' 

"'Pressure  by  whom ?'  I  asked;  but  before  she  could 
answer,  a  flunkey  brought  her  a  card.  '  From  Monsieur 
de  Ballu,'  she  whispered  me,  and  went  off,  leaving  me 
undone.  At  that  hour  the  day  before  such  a  thought 
as  Chris  marrying  Yvonne  had  never  entered  a  human 
brain;  it  had  all  come  through  the  cackle  of  those  two 
old  geese.  And  it  was  I  who  had  brought  Chris  to 
Chateaubrun!  Much  thanks  did  I  get  for  it!  I,  who 
had  done  all  for  her,  was  forgotten,  ignored,  and  she 
swimming  in  joy.  I  felt  that  if  ever  I  should  see  her 
the  wife  of  Chris  —  They  have  no  right  to  make  me 
mad. 

"  I  wouldn't  believe  a  word  of  what  the  old  hag  had 
told  me,  but  at  once  sent  Olivia  to  order  a  caleche,  and 
by  four  o'clock  we  were  off  to  Toulouse,  leaving  old 
Choderlos  de  Hanska  and  Monsieur  de  Ballu  in  an 
interview  with  Yvonne.  In  Toulouse  I  put  the  case 
before  the  first  lawyer  I  could  find.  He  told  me  that 
it  was  true,  all,  all,  that  Choderlos  de  Hanska  had 
said  —  Chris  could  marry  Yvonne.  What  a  sudden, 
undreamt-of  thing!  I  had  never  conceived  anything 
but  a  short  liaison  between  them,  for  I  always  had  a 
girl-to-girl  fondness  for  Yvonne,  and  could  have  borne 
to  see  that:  but  this  was  lifelong  union.  I  understood 
that  Yvonne  might  say  no  to  the  marriage  at  first, 
and  be  on  the  stage,  as  all  Frenchwomen  always  are, 
but  I  felt  that  she  couldn't  long  resist  the  bliss  and 

[  145] 


The  Lost  Viol 

greatness  of  owning  Chris  for  life.  When  I  got  back 
to  the  chateau  I  went  up  to  the  sort  of  flat  to  which 
Yvonne  'retires';  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  Ernestine, 
hanging  about  in  a  state  of  suspense,  whispered  me: 
'  Madame  Choderlos  de  Hanska  and  Monsieur  de  Ballu 
are  still  in  conference  with  her.     She  is  about  to  yield.' 

"Then  a  head  peeping  out  between  the  portieres  of 
Yvonne's  ante-chamber,  said,  'Ah,  it  is  you,  mad- 
emoiselle' —  old  Choderlos  de  Hanska ;  she  put  her  lips 
to  my  ear  with  the  whisper,  'I  have  left  Monsieur  de 
Ballu  alone  with  her.' 

"'What  for?' I  asked. 

"'It  was  essential.' 

" '  But  why  not  let  Monsieur  Wilson  do  his  own 
persuading,  madame  ? ' 

" '  He  is  not  to  see  her  again  till  all  is  settled.  He 
has  very  sagaciously  handed  over  the  whole  affaire  to 
the  tuteurs  (guardians).' 

"  While  speaking  to  me  she  was  touched  from  behind 
by  Monsieur  de  Ballu,  and  they  two  entered  into  a 
whispering  with  gesticulations  which  must  have  lasted 
twenty  minutes,  rivers  of  words.  Then  Choderlos  de 
Hanska  sailed  through  the  little  salon,  and  went  in  to 
Yvonne  alone,  while  Monsieur  de  Ballu  sat  in  the  little 
salon,  a  book  on  his  knees,  but  his  ferret-eyes  fixedly 
leering  at  Yvonne's  door.  I  waited  in  the  ante- 
chamber, feeling  all  out  of  it,  but  after  a  time  ventured 
to  peep  into  the  little  salon  and  say  to  Monsieur  de 
Ballu,  'May  I  see  my  cousine  now?'     Silly!     I  ought 

[  146] 


The  Lost  Viol 

to  have  walked  in  boldly,  for  at  my  question  that  old 
Jaek-in-office  cast  up  his  eyes  and  hands  to  heaven, 
then  shook  his  head  crazily,  stopping  and  beginning 
again,  meaning  'A  thousand  times  no.' 

"I  wished  to  warn  Yvonne  of  the  danger  of  a  second 
marriage  to  Chris  when  he  should  go  back  to  England, 
though  I  knew  in  my  heart  that  the  danger  was  mainly 
theoretical,  since  no  one  would  be  busybody  enough 
to  act  in  the  matter,  even  if  it  were  known  in  London; 
but  I  wished  to  frighten  her  with  it;  so  when  I  had 
withdrawn  again  into  the  ante-chamber,  I  stood  near 
the  portiere,  feeling  shy  and  out  of  place,  but  clinging 
on. 

"Presently  Choderlos  de  Hanska  opened  Yvonne's 
boudoir  door  a  little,  and  beckoned  to  Monsieur  de 
Ballu,  who  went  in.  This  was  French  'intrigue'! 
Then  came  Chris  almost  on  tiptoe  along  the  darkling 
corridor,  with  pauses  and  listenings. 

'Have  you  seen  her?'  he  whispered  to  me;  'is  she 
about  to  yield  ? ' 

"'Yes,  Cousin  Chris,  but — ' 

!<Sh-h-h'  -with  his  finger  on  his  lips.  He  stole 
off  again.  My  heart  failed  me.  I  had  nothing  to  say 
to  him  to  which  he  was  not  deaf. 

'  Then  came  a  heavy  bonhomme  with  creaking  boots 
and  an  air  of  business  —  one  of  the  tuteurs,  I  suppose; 
I  had  never  seen  him  before.  On  seeing  me,  he  said 
at  my  ear,  'Is  she  about  to  yield?'  Monsieur  de  Ballu 
had  just  come  out  again  from  Yvonne,  so  he  and  the 

[147] 


The  Lost  Viol 

newcomer  met  warmly,  and  went  off  into  whispering, 
of  which  I  could  only  hear  'about  to  yield,'  'will  not 
yield,'  'it  is  necessary,'  'mon  ami,'  'the  testament,' 
'the  code  Napoleonique,'  'the  English  law,'  the  'tu- 
teurs,'  'yield,'  'yield,' — a  thousand  times  over.  Pres- 
ently Choderlos  de  Hanska  came  out,  the  three  whis- 
pered together,  and  the  two  men  went  in  to  Yvonne. 
I  asked  Choderlos  de  Hanska  who  was  the  heavy  man, 
and  she  said,  '  Monsieur  Tombarel,  the  mayor.' 

"Then  came  Olivia,  all  fuss,  wanting  me  to  go  to 
dinner,  and  I  had  to,  for  I  was  famished.  Neither 
Chris  nor  Choderlos  de  Hanska  appeared  at  table, 
where  everyone  seemed  trying  to  be  unconscious  that 
something  was  going  on.  As  I  went  up  the  stairs 
again,  Ernestine  ran  down  to  meet  me  with  the  breath- 
less news,  '  Maitre  Bibesco  has  arrived !  It  is  said  that 
she  is  about  to  yield.'  I  neither  knew  nor  cared  who 
Maitre  Bibesco  was,  but  on  peeping  into  the  little 
salon  I  saw  him  —  a  huge  Danton  of  a  man  with  a 
lowering  brow.  There  were  now  four  of  them  in  there 
at  Yvonne.  I  hung  about  the  corridor  and  portieres 
for  hours,  waiting  my  chance  to  see  her,  or  send  in  a 
note,  but  it  never  came;  one  by  one,  or  two,  three, 
four  together,  they  were  with  her.  The  to-do  that 
those  people  made  that  night!  The  chaos  of  words, 
the  plans  and  shifts,  the  wine  that  they  drank!  They 
were  just  in  their  element,  with  an  'affaire'  to  let 
themselves  loose  over.  About  eleven  I  left  them,  and 
went  to  bed  shivering  and  burning  at  once. 

[  148] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"The  next  morning,  as  I  lay  abed,  Ernestine  ran  in 
to  say,  '  She  has  not  yielded,  but  it  is  believed  that  she 
will  yield  this  afternoon  at  about  two '  —  and  rushed 
out  again.  Ten  minutes  later  Olivia  was  saying  to 
me,  'She  has  not  yielded.'  I  said,  'What,  have  you, 
too,  caught  the  epidemic  of  "  yield  "  ? '  Presently  my 
own  maid  brought  me  in  a  note  from  old  Choderlos 
de  Hanska,  scribbled  with  the  words,  'She  has  not 
yielded,  but  signs  are  not  wanting.  Monsieur  Tom- 
barel  will  be  with  her  at  eleven.'  I  said  to  Olivia, 
'It  is  all  French  play-acting,  she  will  "yield"  soon 
enough;  but  in  that  case  my  mind  is  made  up  what  to 
do.'  I  had  resolved  during  the  night:  I  should  tell 
Hannah  all,  and  let  Hannah  defend  her  rights.  I 
might  have  got  dressed  in  time  to  go  to  warn  Yvonne 
of  Chris's  danger  from  English  law  before  any  of  the 
tuteurs  were  with  her,  but  I  would  not  now  be  at  the 
pains,  for  I  felt  that  nothing  in  the  end  would  keep 
her  from  'yielding';  and  my  mind  was  quite  made  up 
that  one  wife  is  enough  for  Chris. 

"But  the  fuss  all  that  day!  The  arrivals  and  de- 
partures, the  telegrams,  the  mounted  messengers! 
Though  I  was  kept  informed  of  most  things  by  one  or 
another  of  them,  still  I  couldn't  grasp  what  it  was  all 
about,  nor  could  conceive  how  the  '  affaire '  had  become 
so  mightily  complex  in  so  short  a  time.  "What  made  it 
worse  was  that  those  with  Yvonne  sent  hourly  tele- 
grams to  those  in  Toulouse:  'She  is  about  to  yield,' 
'She  does  not  yield,'  'Send  both  documents,'  'Your 

[  149] 


The  Lost  Viol 

presence  is  essential,'  '  Consult  Leyds  of  Paris  as  to 
droits  de  tutelage,'  'Influence  of  Madame  de  Ballu 
would  prove  most  useful  auxiliary  at  present  juncture,' 
and  more.  Besides,  there  were  the  three  visits  of  the 
physician,  who  himself  became  one  of  the  arguers  and 
persuaders.  Near  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Chod- 
erlos  de  Hanska  told  me  that  Yvonne  would  become 
dangerously  ill  if  the  strain  continued;  she  had  fainted 
some  minutes  before  in  attempting  to  sit  up  in  bed. 
I  pitied  her,  but  pitied  myself  more.  Twice  she  sent 
for  Chris  to  go  to  her,  but  Chris  was  not  allowed  to  go, 
her  longing  to  see  him  being  one  of  the  means  used  to 
persuade  her.  But  soon  after  three  Ernestine  ran  to 
me  with  the  news,  'It  is  finished:  Monsieur  Wilson  is 
now  with  her.     She  has  yielded.' 

"  My  mind  was  quite  made  up.  I  at  once  telegraphed 
to  Hannah  in  Paris,  '  Will  you  be  at  the  same  address 
the  day  after  to-morrow?'  At  six  I  got  the  answer, 
'Yes.' 

"Yvonne's  rooms  were  still  more  or  less  full  of  her 
friends  enjoying  the  after- taste  of  their  victory;  so, 
not  wishing  to  see  either  her  or  Chris,  I  simply  wrote 
her  a  note,  saying  that  Olivia  and  I  were  going  to 
Cannes  to  meet  some  one,  and  should  soon  be  back. 

'What  on  earth  Hannah  would  or  could  do  now  I 
couldn't  imagine,  but  I  knew  that  she  would  do  some- 
thing effective,  and  I  was  determined  to  set  her  on  the 
back  of  Yvonne.  One  wife  at  a  time  for  Chris,  ladies. 
At  7.15  I  left  Toulouse  for  Paris,  arrived  at,"  etc.,  etc. 

[150] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"By  eleven  in  the  morning  I  was  at  14  rue  Boissy 
d'Anglas,"  continued  the  little  maid  three  days  later. 
'  The  concierge  told  me  that  Hannah  lived  at  Madame 
Brault's,  a  pension  at  the  top  of  the  hive,  so  up  and  up 
I  climbed  —  to  the  fifth  floor,  troops  of  work-girls 
hurrying  all  about  the  dark  stairs.  Hannah  wasn't  in, 
but  was  expected  in  to  dejeuner  at  noon,  a  servant 
said.  I  answered  that  I  would  wait,  and  was  led  into 
a  little  salon,  where  I  sat  a  long  time,  trying  to  keep 
my  palms  dry.  When  any  one  came  in  I  felt  relieved 
that  it  was  not  Hannah.  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
have  been  so  nervous. 

"  At  last  Hannah  swept  in,  vomiting  her  energy  like  a 
volcano,  uttered  a  cry,  and  caught  me  in  her  arms,  chat- 
tering French,  slurring  her  r's  daintily  like  a  Parisienne. 
She  had  quite  a  chic  hat  and  coiffure,  with  a  stole  tossing 
about  her,  and  looked  tall  and  smart,  no  sign  yet  of  any- 
thing coming.  I  always  disliked  the  girl,  but  if  I  had 
not,  I  should  have  liked  her.  I  ceased  to  be  nervous  the 
moment  she  flew  at  me  and  took  me  to  her.  She  se*  me 
down,  knelt  before  me,  and  caressed  my  hands,  pouring 
out  all  the  paltry  news  of  a  letter  received  by  her  from 
Orrock  that  morning,  without  letting  me  speak. 

[151] 


The  Lost  Viol 

" '  Well,  it  is  home  again  to  see  you,'  she  said  at  last. 
'  What  brought  you  to  Paris  ?  Tell  me  about  yourself. 
I  believe  you  have  news  for  me.  You  know  where 
Chris  is." 

" '  Chris  is  at  Chateaubrun,'  I  said. 

"Her  palms  just  lifted  a  little  from  me,  as  if  hurt, 
then  came  back. 

"'With  Yvonne?' 

"'Yes.' 

"'Oh,  the  rogue!  he  oughtn't  to  be.' 

"  I  enjoyed  her  struggle  to  hide  her  pang  and  dismay 
under  a  light  air. 

'"Hannah,  things  have  come  to  a  fine  pass  at  Cha- 
teaubrun,' I  said,  'and  I  have  come  all  this  way  to 
tell  you,  because  you  know  that  I  have  your  interests 
at  heart,  and  I  could  not  say  everything  in  a  letter. 
Chris  has  been  at  Chateaubrun  four  weeks  — ' 

'"And  you  didn't  tell  me,'  she  put  in. 

" '  How  could  I  ? '  I  said.  '  Yvonne  is  my  friend, 
too,  and  my  hostess.     It  was  delicate.' 

'"So  true.     But  tell  me.' 
'Prepare  yourself  to  hear  the  most  startling  news, 
Hannah  — ' 

'"Come,  Hannah,  sit  tight,'  she  put  in. 

'"Chris  is  going  to  marry  Yvonne,'  I  said. 

"Again  her  palms  started  up  a  little,  and  slowly 
came  back  upon  me. 

"'He  can't  do  that,'  she  murmured. 

'"He  can,'  I  said,  'there  is  a  law  in  France  — ' 

[152] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"'Give  it  to  me  in  the  good  old  home  brogue,'  she 
said,  for  I  had  been  speaking  in  French  without  know- 
ing, so  I  changed  into  English,  and  told  nearly  every- 
thing. She  listened  at  my  knees  at  first,  but  presently 
getting  up,  stood  at  a  window  with  her  back  almost 
turned  to  me,  but  listening  attentively.  When  I  had 
said  all,  she  stood  silent  awhile,  then,  chucking  up  her 
head,  said,  'Nice  young  lady  that.'  I  was  astonished 
at  her  coolness,  but  thought  to  myself,  'Since  she  is 
cool,  she  will  act  all  the  more  effectively.' 

"'As  to  Yvonne,'  I  began,  'she  ought  to  be 
ashamed  — ' 

"'So  ought  you,'  from  Hannah. 

"'//     But  why?' 

'"For  staying  in  such  a  house.' 

"'Oh,  as  to  that—' 

"'Well,  God  grant  them  joy.' 

"'You  take  it  coolly,  Hannah.' 

"  At  this,  she  suddenly  spun  round  upon  me,  crying 
out  in  a  startlingly  loud  voice,  'Oh,  my  dear,  the 
flames  of  these  fires,  such  is  His  mercy,  cannot  touch 
me!'  Her  face  was  crimson  with  passion.  I  was 
frightened  by  the  woman's  shout.  She  then  turned 
sharply  to  the  window  again,  and  I  could  see  her 
trembling  from  head  to  foot.  The  'flames  of  these 
fires'  did  touch  my  Hannah.  Perhaps  she  had  been 
reading  Dante:  something  like  that  was  what  Beatrice 
said  when  she  came  from  heaven  into  the  flames  of 
torment.     There  she  stood,  silent  and  trembling;  but 

[153] 


The  Lost  Viol 

in  a  minute  or  two  I  heard  her  humming  '  viens,  pou- 
poule,'  to  herself.  I  didn't  venture  to  say  anything, 
I  was  so  startled.  Presently  she  spun  round  again, 
picked  up  a  fiddle  from  the  piano-top,  and  said,  showing 
it  to  me,  '  I  have  been  practising  on  it  —  fifteen  hours 
a  day  sometimes  —  for  a  year,  in  order  to  make  myself 
a  little  worthy  of  him.  That's  all  thrown  into  the 
deep  blue  sea  now.' 

"  I  was  sorry  for  her  at  the  moment  —  and  alarmed 
at  her  resignation. 

'But  why  thrown  into  the  sea?'  I  said.  'Don't 
take  it  so  coolly,  Hannah!' 

'My  dear,'  she  answered,  'at  this  moment  there 
are  ten  thousand  poor  people  lying  with  their  death- 
sweats  on  their  forehead,  all  worse  off  than  I,  and  they 
have  to  face  and  bear  it.  What  can't  be  cured  must 
be  endured.' 

'  But,'  I  said  astonished,  '  you  don't  mean  that  you 
are  going  to  allow  Yvonne  to  have  it  all  her  own  way 
with  your  own  husband  ? ' 

'  Really,  Kathleen ! '  she  answered,  '  what  can  you 
think  of  me  ?  Am  I  to  strive  and  cry  ?  One  must 
have  some  self-respect.  I  have  been  following  Chris 
about,  not  merely  because  I  am  married  to  him,  but 
because  I  believed  that  his  infatuation  for  that  woman 
didn't  amount  to  much,  and  that  he  really  loved  me 
at  bottom.  But  when  he  proves  beyond  doubt  that 
he  does  love  her,  and  cares  nothing  for  me,  what's  left 
for  me  to  do?     I  go  back  to  England  to-night.' 

[  154] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"As  she  said  this,  all  my  hopes  fell  to  the  ground. 
Not  a  doubt  had  crossed  my  mind  that  she  would  find 
something  strong  to  do  to  stop  Chris  and  Yvonne;  and 
now  I  saw  my  voyage  to  Paris  taken  in  vain,  and  I 
saw  Yvonne  in  sure,  lifelong  possession  of  Chris.  I 
set  myself  to  plead  with  Hannah  with  tears  in  my 
eyes.  I  tried  her  on  every  side.  'You  can  never 
marry  again,  as  long  as  Chris  lives,'  I  said.  She 
laughed,  crying  out,  '  Oh !  one  marriage  is  plenty  for  a 
lifetime!'  Then  I  dared  to  say,  'Of  course,  I  don't 
know  whether  you  and  Chris  have  ever  been  together 
all  this  time,  but,  if  so,  think  of  what  may  come,  and 
he  another  woman's  husband.'  Her  eyes,  I  thought, 
rested  sharply  on  me  a  moment,  as  I  said  this;  then 
she  laughed  rather  wildly,  but  made  no  answer.  I 
tried  every  argument,  and  still  she  remained  'un- 
touched' by  'these  fires,'  till  it  occurred  to  me  that  I 
hadn't  yet  mentioned  about  the  risk  which  Chris 
would  run  from  English  law,  if  he  married  Yvonne. 
That  did  it!  While  I  spoke  of  it  she  stood  staring 
strangely  at  me,  and  then  just  breathed:  'You  don't 
mean  that  he  can  be  imprisoned  in  England  ? ' 

' '  I  do  mean  just  that,'  I  said  strongly,  seeing  the 
effect  I  had  made:  'Imprisonment,  penal  servitude, 
infamy  —  his  high  career  blighted  forever,  Hannah,  — ' 

'  No  one  will  know,'  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

'But  how  do  you  mean?  I  said;  'can  a  public 
character  like  Chris  marry  without  every  one  knowing  ? ' 
Then,  seeing  the  necessity  to  clinch  the  nail,  I  invented 

[155] 


The  Lost  Viol 

a  story,  and  added:  'Besides,  there's  a  man  staying 
now  at  Chateaubrun  named  de  Marsillac,  who  is  madly 
in  love  with  Yvonne  and  hates  Chris;  he  and  Chris 
have  fought  a  duel,  he  knows  that  Chris  was  married 
before,  and  he  swears  that  the  moment  Chris  marries 
Yvonne  he  will  communicate  the  fact  to  the  London 
police  — ' 

'My  boy,'  she  murmured,  with  her  lips  trembling. 
'  What  will  you  do,  Hannah  ? '  I  asked.     '  You  can't 
stand  quietly  by  and  witness  such  a  disaster.' 

"She  didn't  answer,  sat  down  with  her  palm  under 
her  chin,  thinking  of  it.  I  had  said  all  that  I  could 
now,  and  felt  worn  out.  It  was  for  her  now  to  act, 
and  I  watched  her  with  interest  to  see  what  she  would 
do.  Presently  she  sprang  up,  threw  her  hat  one  way, 
her  stole  another,  and  stood  again  at  the  window, 
looking  out.  I  saw  her  hand  steal  up  and  wipe  away 
a  tear.  Then  she  said  behind  her  shoulder,  'Surely 
the  woman  doesn't  know  all  this  ? ' 

"'She  does  —  of  course,'  I  said. 

"'And  Chris,  too?' 

"'Yes,  of  course.' 

" '  So  it's  no  use  any  one  writing  to  warn  them  ? ' 

"'Not  the  least,  I'm  afraid.' 

"'But  the  woman  must  be  mad!' 

" '  People  who  are  in  love  don't  mind  the  future,' 
I  said. 

'In  love,''  she  repeated  with  contempt. 

"'Will  you  do  something,  Hannah?'  I  asked. 

[156] 


The  Lost  Viol 

'Will  I  breathe?'  she  answered.  'Chris  is  my 
friend,  Kathleen  —  a  one-sided  affair  no  doubt,  but 
still  —  that's  all  right.  Husband-and-wife  isn't  so 
much  —  one  flesh  —  but  friend-and-friend  is  one  soul, 
you  know.  That  goes  pretty  deep,  that.  I  shall  do 
something,  of  course;  don't  know  what.  That  will  be 
told  me  later,  perhaps.' 

'But  they  are  to  be  married  soon!'  I  said. 

'"Well,  we'll  see.' 

"Soon  after  this,  dejeuner-bell  began  to  ring,  and 
three  people  came  into  the  room.  Hannah  wished  me 
to  stay,  but  I  wouldn't.  I  told  her  that  I  wanted  to 
return  at  once  to  Chateaubrun,  so  that  Yvonne  might 
not  suspect  that  I  had  been  to  Paris.  She  kissed  me 
coldly,  I  thought,  at  good-by.  Ah,  my  Hannah,  there 
is  more  between  my  soul  and  you  than  you  know: 
I  should  have  liked  to  like  you,  if  I  had  not  disliked 
you.  Anyway,  she  will  be  doing  something  strong 
and  effective,"  etc.,  etc. 


[157] 


CHAPTER  XV 

Hannah  did,  indeed,  do  "something,"  going  in  the 
first  place  to  the  British  consul  five  minutes'  walk, 
from  the  rue  Boissy  d'Anglas,  got  there  the  address  of 
an  English  solicitor,  and  set  off  in  a  cab  to  find  him. 
But  at  his  offices  near  the  Grand  Boulevard,  she  learned 
that  he  was  away  for  a  week.  It  was  late  then,  four 
o'clock,  and  knowing  of  no  other  English  solicitor,  she 
determined  to  make  short  work,  to  go  to  England,  and 
consult  a  London  expert  the  next  morning. 

She  drove  through  London  at  that  early  hour  when 
men  are  washing  the  streets  with  hoses,  went  to  her  old 
lodgings  in  Guilford  Street,  and  by  ten  A.  m.  was  getting 
from  her  detectives  in  Berners  Street  —  the  detectives 
who  were  trying  to  find  her  viol  and  trinkets  —  the 
address  of  an  expert  in  international  marriage  law. 

By  eleven  she  was  shut  in  with  the  great  man  in  a 
room  in  the  Middle  Temple.  "Deep  as  he  is  long!" 
she  wrote  of  him.  "Never  in  my  life  beheld  such  a 
paunch:  '/  first,'  it  says  to  great  little  man,  and  he 
comes  trotting  after;  and  not  only  legs  ridiculously 
short  for  what's  up  above,  but  trousers  too  short  for 

legs."     It  was  Mr.  G ,  the  little  judgc-bullicr,  an 

Irishman,  since  dead. 

[159] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Mr.  G stood  with  his  back  to  a  fire,  gowned 

and  wigged,  ready  to  step  over  to  the  courts,  his  hands 
in  his  large  pockets;  and  Hannah,  sitting  veiled  by  a 
table  before  him,  put  her  case. 

"  And  you  wish  to  know  ? "  he  asked. 

"Firstly,  whether  he  can  legally  marry  the  French- 
woman." 

"Is  it  certain  that  no  French  consul  was  at  his  first 
marriage  ?  " 

"  Quite." 

"Then  he  can  marry  in  France." 

"Yes.  Secondly,  I  want  to  know  how  English  law 
regards  this  legal  marriage  in  France." 

"As  bigamy." 

"Yes,  I  had  heard  that.  But  I  want  to  know  what 
would  be  the  actual  consequences  to  him  in  England  ? 
Surely,  since  he  is  a  Frenchman,  and  is  only  acting 
according  to  the  laws  of  his  country,  no  English  judge 
would  actually  punish  him  for  it?" 

"There  you  are  mistaken,  madam.  Just  the  con- 
trary —  a  ruffian  of  that  sort  would  catch  it  pretty 
hot,  I  can  tell  you,  from  an  English  judge." 

"  He  is  not  a  ruffian,  only  a  wild  boy." 

"  What,  to  leave  his  English  wife,  and  marry  another 
woman  ?     Shameful  conduct." 

"His  English  wife  is  hardly  very  worthy  of  him, 
perhaps." 

"Pardon  me  there,  she's  a  long  way  more  than 
worthy  of  him;  for  I  know." 

[160] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"But  apart  from  that,  I  want  to  know,  thirdly  and 
lastly,  what  can  be  done  to  save  him?" 

"Why,  what  do  you  suppose  can  be  done  to  save 
him  ?  except  to  induce  him  to  behave  himself  in  a 
respectable  manner." 

"'His  paunch  laughed,'  wrote  Hannah;  "shouldn't 
have  known  that  he  was  laughing,  but  saw  it  going, 
and  drew  my  own  conclusions." 

"But  something  must  be  done,"  she  said.  "He  is 
not  an  ordinary  man,  Mr.  G — — :  just  think,  his  career 
will  be  only  half  a  career,  if  he  never  comes  to  England 
—  Can  this  be  allowed  to  hang  over  him  ?  " 

Mr.   G looked  at  his  watch,  smiled,  and  said 

almost  tenderly,  "What  can  J  do,  madam?" 

"But  I  felt  so  sure  in  the  cab  coming  to  you,"  per- 
sisted Hannah,  "that  I  was  being  guided,  that  you 
would  suggest  some  way  out.  Oh,  pray,  think  for  me ! 
I  myself  am  so  utterly  at  a  loss  —  Perhaps  if  you  only 
knew  who  he  is!  —  such  a  big  lot  is  at  stake." 

Mr.   G ,  with  a  puckered  brow,  said:  "I  only 

wish  I  knew  what  you  mean,  and  could  help  you. 
What  way  out  can  there  be  ?  The  law  is  clear :  if  a 
foreigner  comes  to  England  and  breaks  the  law  of 
England,  he  must  surfer.  The  only  thing  that  could 
cause  the  law  to  condone  or  forgive  such  a  gross  bigamy 
is  the  wife's  previous  misconduct,  or  the  wife's  previous 
bigamy,  of  which  the  husband  knew  before  his  own 
bigamy,  and  which  he  could  prove." 

"As  he  said  this,"  wrote  Hannah,  "it  was  as  if  God 

[  161  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

spoke  to  me  by  his  voice.  Sat  electrified  —  all  clear 
before  me.  Had  known  with  certainty  when  I  crossed 
that  threshold  that  a  message  would  be  sent  me,  and 
here  it  was." 

"Well,  that  can  be  done,"  she  said  to  Mr.  G . 

"What  can,  madam?" 

"  Could  not  his  wife  marry  illegally,  and  contrive  to 
let  him  know  before  his  own  second  marriage  that  she 
had  done  so  ?  Then  he  will  always  have  the  excuse  to 
plead  that  she  abandoned  him  before  he  abandoned 
her." 

"One  part  of  him,"  wrote  Hannah,  "again  went 
shaky." 

"  You  can't  be  serious,  madam,"  said  Mr.  G- . 

"Could  it  not  be  done?" 

"It  could  be  done,  certainly;  all  sorts  of  breaches  of 
the  law  can  be  done :  but  woe  to  the  woman  who  dares 
do  that,  I  tell  you." 

"Why  so?" 

"Doesn't  she  commit  a  bigamy  in  order  to  save  a 
man  from  the  consequences  of  his  bigamy  ?  " 

"  That's  no  sin,  if  her  second  marriage  is  unreal." 

"It's  a  crime." 

"  Oh,  crimes  that  are  no  sin:  I'd  commit  any  number 
of  them  before  breakfast." 

"Well,  I  never  yet  met  a  woman  who  respects  the 

law,"  said  Mr.  G .     "But,  madam,  if  the  lady  in 

question  is  a  —  friend  of  yours,  do  let  me  warn  you 
most  solemnly  against  any  such  step  on  her  part.     I 

[162] 


The  Lost  Viol 

never  heard  the  like!  Tricks  of  that  sort  can't  be 
played  with  the  law,  mark  you:  sooner  or  later  it  finds 
means  to  avenge  itself.  There  now,  I  shall  consider 
that  I  have  earned  my  fee  of  you,  if  I  have  taught  you 
this." 

Hannah   hardly   heard.     She    was    all    inwardness, 

thought,  and  feeling;  the  "law"  of  Mr.  G was 

hardly  to  her  the  highest  sort  of  law;  springing  up,  she 
warmly  thanked  and  shook  hands  with  the  lawyer. 

She  drove  from  there  to  a  timber-yard  in  Lamb's 
Conduit  Street,  leaning  over  the  cab-doors,  eager  to 
arrive,  an  impulse  now  upon  her  from  which  nothing 
could  have  turned  her.  At  the  gate  of  the  timber-yard 
she  had  a  fifteen  minutes'  talk  with  a  young  workman 
named  Willie  Dawe,  the  same  whom  she  had  rescued 
from  the  sea  at  Orrock.  He  had  come  up  to  seek  his 
fortune,  and  she,  who  knew  everything  about  each 
Orrock  life,  had  often  seen  him  in  London.  After 
her  talk  with  him,  she  drove  the  short  way  to  the 
Clerkenwell  Town-hall,  and  arranged  for  a  marriage 
there  in  three  days'  time. 

But  during  those  three  days  her  heart  seems  to  have 
often  failed  her;  her  diary  was  filled  with  doubts  and 
fears,  self-accusations  of  "impulse,"  of  "pride,"  of 
"stubbornness,"  of  "self-will,"  of  "self-love,"  of 
"rashness";  passionate  prayers  for  "guidance,"  again 
and  again  repeated;  terrors  as  to  the  future  of  her 
child,  and  of  herself;  love-cries  of  her  abandoned 
heart.     But   if   she   imagined    that   to   accuse   herself 

[  163  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

many  times  of  "stubbornness"  could  make  less  stub- 
born, she  was  mistaken,  since  one  can  by  no  means 
fly  oneself:  in  reality,  though  all  things  else  in  her 
shrank  and  were  weak,  her  founded  will  never  budged. 
"A  tailor  the  ninth  of  a  man,"  she  wrote,  "a  genius 
nine  men;  so  as  I  stepped  from  town-hall  with  my 
Willie,  thought  to  myself,  'This  your  tenth  marriage, 
Hannah.'  Said  to  my  Willie:  'Understand  now, 
Willie,  what  I  didn't  tell  you  formally  before,  though 
you  guessed,  that  I  am  not  really  a  widow,  Mr.  Wilson 
still  alive,  so  your  marriage  with  me  not  binding  on 
you,  you  can  marry  again  whenever  you  like.'  'I 
guessed  as  much,  Miss  Hannah,'  said  my  dear  boy, 
'  that's  all  right  between  us '  —  shy  as  a  squirrel, 
looking  lovely  in  Sunday  best.  I  said,  'Here's  the 
£2,  and  mind  how  you  spend  it,  hear  you  are  a  gay 
one  for  the  girls  and  the  beer;  but  promise  to  get 
back  to  work  this  afternoon,  and  to  come  to  see  me 
sometimes.'  Promised,  and  we  parted  fondly.  To- 
night typewritten  letter  to  be  posted  to  Chateaubrun. 
The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away.' 


[  164] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Meanwhile,  the  quaint  maid  at  Chateaubrun  was 
writing:  "But  why  does  she  wait?  If  she  means  to  do 
something  effective,  now,  now,  is  the  time,  before 
every  one  here  gets  to  know  of  the  impending  marriage. 
I  thought  that  she  would  have  been  here  days  ago, 
and  been  at  Yvonne  like  a  fury.  But  nothing  done. 
I  have  written  to  her  at  Paris,  beseeching  her  to  come, 
to  do  something;  but  no  reply.  Of  what,  in  God's 
name,  can  Hannah  be  thinking?  I  am  certain  that 
she  said  she  would  do  something:  when  I  asked  her 
if  she  would,  she  answered,  'Will  I  breathe?'  Then 
why  doesn't  she  come  ?  The  marriage  is  fixed  for  the 
12th  before  the  mayor.  Yvonne  is  crazily  excited. 
She  was  in  bed  again  yesterday:  one  day  as  gay  as  a 
bird,  the  next  down  in  bed.  Old  Choderlos  dc  Hanska 
repeats  in  a  court- whisper  that  she  is  'In  the  grip  of 
a  tragic  destiny,'  whatever  that  means.  Chris  just 
smiles  and  stirs  one  eyebrow,"  etc.,  etc. 

On  the  day  after  the  date  of  this  entiy  the  little 
maid  was  sitting  alone  in  a  grape-arbor  at  the  entrance 
of  an  avenue  near  the  chateau,  some  torn  envelopes 
by  her  side  —  the  post  had  lately  come  —  and  a  volume 

[165] 


The  Lost  Viol 

of  Kant  lying  unread,  for  she  was  in  distress,  since 
among  her  letters  was  none  from  Hannah. 

At  that  hour  of  ten  it  looked  like  noon,  so  glaring 
was  the  Southern  morning. 

Presently  Kathleen  heard  a  step,  peeped  out  of  the 
arbor,  and  saw  Chris  coming  quickly,  looking  flushed, 
an  open  letter  in  his  hand.  "I  heard  that  you  were 
here,"  he  said  to  her,  "just  read  that." 

Kathleen  took  the  letter  and  ran  her  quick  eyes 
over  the  typewritten  words: 

"Dear  Sir: 

"Are  you  aware  that  your  wife,  Hannah  Wilson, 
has  lately  contracted  a  second  marriage  in  London  ? 
This  is  the  truth,  as  you  may  at  any  time  convince 
yourself  by  applying  at  the  Clerkenwell  Registry-office 
for  a  copy  of  the  certificate. 

"Yours  always, 

"A  Friend." 

The  quaint  maid  went  awfully  pale  as  she  read 
this!  for  her  sharp  wits  at  once  pierced  to  the  truth 
that  Hannah  had  really  now  done  "something,"  but 
the  opposite  to  her  hopes,  making  the  new  marriage 
safe  for  Chris  instead  of  fighting  it  tooth  and  nail. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  asked  Chris. 

"It  is  true,"  she  murmured,  sitting  down. 

"But  it  can't  possibly  be  true,"  said  Chris. 

Kathleen  could  hardly  speak,  and  disliked  Hannah 

[166] 


The  Lost  Viol 

far  too  much  at  that  moment  to  be  at  the  pains  to 
explain  to  Chris  what  must  be  Hannah's  motive. 

"To  me  it  is  merely  incredible,"  repeated  Chris. 

"  You  ought  to  be  glad." 

"If  Well,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  glad  in  one  way, 
if  it  can  possibly  be  true:  but,  on  the  contrary,  I  am 
most  sorry.  This  woman  bears  my  name,  and  I  was 
prouder  of  it,  Kathleen,  than  I  realized  till  now,  it 
seems.  I  should  have  something  to  say  to  the  good 
gentleman  concerned,  if  I  met  him,  I  think ! " 

Kathleen  did  not  care,  nor  answer:  she  felt  too  ill. 

"Can  Hannah  Wilson  be  base?"  asked  Chris  with 
opening  arms.  "If  that  be  so,  I  shall  never  again 
trust  a  human  soul!  What  have  I  done,  that  she 
should  abandon  me  in  this  fashion?  I  who  have 
wished  to  do  all  that  I  could  for  her,  and  was  about 
to  make  over  to  her  most  that  our  good  uncle  left  me  ? 
But  this  letter  must  be  a  libel :  her  soul  had  for  me  the 
noblest  perfume  —  " 

"You  couldn't  have  both  Hannah  and  Yvonne, 
Chris,"  murmured  Kathleen. 

"  But  why  not  ?  "  asked  the  astonished  Chris,  "  since 
they  would  not  have  met  each  other?  How  sorrows 
come  unmerited  upon  one's  head!  It  is  as  when  one 
owns  a  ring  or  a  precious  stone  which  he  never  sees, 
but  when  it  is  lost,  he  has  a  feeling  of  poverty.  Can 
nothing  be  done  for  me?  Will  you  write,  Kathleen, 
to  the  office  in  London,  and  find  out  if  this  is  true  ? " 

"If  you  like,"  answered  Kathleen,  and  that  day  she 

[167] 


The  Lost  Viol 

made  Miss  Olivia  write,  she  herself  being  in  bed  with 
a  racked  brow;  but  before  the  answer  came  from 
London  a  great  grief  had  fallen  upon  Chateaubrun, 
so  that  when  it  came,  and  Chris  was  shown  the  proof 
of  Hannah's  marriage,  he  saw  it  with  bewildered  eyes, 
for  he  was  then  bereft  of  Yvonne  as  well  as  of  Hannah. 

The  day  after  the  coming  of  that  typewritten  letter 
from  "a  friend"  was  one  of  the  last  of  the  grape-vin- 
tage in  that  part,  and  it  had  been  arranged  that  a 
party  from  the  chateau  should  go  out  as  reapers  to  a 
vineyard  named  l'Adhemar,  two  or  three  miles  away. 
About  three,  then,  in  the  blazing  afternoon  they  set 
out  gaily  in  several  kinds  of  carriage,  the  ladies  looking 
as  much  like  peasant  vendangeuses  as  they  could,  with 
straw  hats,  and  coarse  gloves  on  their  hands. 

Chris  and  Yvonne  drove  together  with  Monsieur  de 
Marsillac  and  the  old  comtesse  Choderlos  de  Hanska; 
Kathleen  and  Miss  Olivia  were  in  an  old-fashioned 
sort  of  yellow  painted  coach  with  some  men.  Yvonne 
was  rather  feverishly  gay  that  day,  but  Chris  was 
absent-minded:  the  affair  of  Hannah  had  put  him  into 
that  large,  yearning  mood  in  which  music  is  often 
written,  so  he  had  been  trying  to  write  his  sigh,  but 
had  done  nothing  excellent:  and  this  failure,  this 
musical  flea  and  unrest,  was  fretting  his  mind.  He  had 
said  nothing  as  yet  to  Yvonne  about  the  typewritten, 
letter  from  London ;  was  waiting  to  have  it  first  proved 
or  disproved. 

As  to  Kathleen,  it  was  odd  that  she  went  with  the 

[168] 


The  Lost  Viol 

others  that  day,  since  she  had  worked  herself  into  a 
fever  at  what  would  certainly  now  take  place  before 
Monsieur  Tombarel,  the  mayor,  in  five  days'  time; 
however,  no  one  guessed  at  her  headache  and  hot  skin, 
for  she  laughed  and  talked  with  the  rest. 

When  they  came  to  l'Adhemar,  the  vigneron  and 
his  family,  who  expected  them,  gave  out  reaping-scissors 
and  baskets,  and  with  a  crowd  of  boys  and  girls  the 
party  went  out  to  the  terraced  hills,  scattered,  and 
reaped  with  the  other  reapers. 

Yvonne  in  the  vines  had  filled  her  basket,  had  borne 
it  to  one  of  the  carts,  and  was  again  filling  it,  when  she 
called  out,  "  Monsieur  Wilson !  are  you  there  ?  "  —  for 
each  reaper  was  hidden  from  the  rest,  the  soil  there- 
abouts being  deep,  and  the  scene  very  different  from 
those  scrubby  vineyards  of  central  France  which,  how- 
ever, yield  the  choicest  wine.  L'Adhemar  gives  one 
of  those  strong  wines,  like  Hermitage  and  the  Pro- 
vencal crops,  which  are  reaped  almost  as  late  as  port; 
and  here  the  hills  are  thickly  grown,  with  trellises  and 
espaliers  reaching  well  above  one's  head. 

Chris  called  back  in  answer  to  Yvonne's  call,  fol- 
lowed the  direction  of  her  voice,  and  soon  came  upon 
her.  They  were  there  together  in  a  little  cave  of 
shadow  made  of  the  hairy  leaves,  of  the  tendrils,  and 
of  the  purple  grappcs  (or  bunches),  Yvonne's  gloves 
already  soaked,  for  at  every  wound  made  by  the  scissors 
in  the  vine,  sap  poured  plenteously  out. 

"You  see,  it  is  already  'she'  who  seeks  'him*  rather 

[169] 


The  Lost  Viol 

than  he  her,"  she  said  to  Chris,  looking  like  a  saucy 
vendangeuse,  and  holding  up  in  her  lips  a  half-crushed 
grape  to  his;  Chris  fed  on  grape  and  lips  together, 
whereat  she,  pretending  to  be  outraged,  said,  "But, 
monsieur,  this  is  very  English  conduct!  Oah,  shock- 
eeng !  seeing  that  I  have  not  yet  the  honor  to  be  Madame 
Wilson." 

"Five  days,"  murmured  Chris. 

"Four  and  eight  hours:  tell  me  if  it  seems  long.** 

Chris  nodded,  gazing  into  her  eyes,  and  smiling. 

"  Sometimes,  mon  ami,"  sighed  Yvonne  with  sudden 
soberness,  "I  have  a  sharp  sensation  that  it  will  never 
be ;  four  days  —  it  is  infinitely  far,  and  that  which  is 
infinite  has  no  end." 

"  I  get  very  little  sleep,"  said  Chris. 

"I  sleep  very  well,  but  my  sleep  is  full  of  dreams 
of  one  person>  a  woman,  who  is  never  angry,  but 
always  smiles:  and  this  causes  me  to  suffer,  Chris." 

"That  will  soon  be  well." 

Yvonne  sighed. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "an  injustice  has  been  done 
to  us  mortals:  the  problem  of  life  has  been  made  too 
deep  and  hard  for  our  blind  understandings." 

"We  were  not  made  to  think,  but  to  feel,"  said 
Chris;  "whoever  enjoys  is  the  true  worshiper  of  the 
Father.  The  grapes  live  rightly  in  their  voluptuous 
nonchalance.  In  five  days  we  shall  be  as  defiantly 
perfect  and  happy  as  they." 

"Very  well,  I  am  ready,  let  us  defy:  but  you  must 

[170] 


The  Lost  Viol 

give  me  a  lot,  a  lot,  a  whole  ocean,  to  poison  the  worm. 
Will  you  ?     Tell  me." 

Chris  said  yes  with  his  eyebrows. 

"Soon?" 

He  nodded. 

'  Yes,  soon.  One  —  two  —  three  —  four.  Do  you 
know  beforehand  how  a  wife  kisses  ? " 

But  their  passion  was  startled  by  a  step.  Yvonne 
pushed  Chris  from  her  in  a  frightened  manner  (for  all 
this  was  highly  improper  in  France),  and,  as  Chris 
disappeared,  Kathleen  came,  looking  awfully  wan, 
though  trying  to  laugh,  saying,  "  Oh,  you  are  here." 

'Yes,  this  is  my  second  basket,"  said  Yvonne:  "and 
you?" 

"  I  have  filled  one,  but  have  stopped  now,  they  are 
too  heavy." 

'You  do  not  look  well,  my  poor  dear,"  said  Yvonne, 
kissing  Kathleen's  cheek.  "  I  have  been  sorry,  Kath- 
leen, that  we  have  been  so  little  together  lately:  you 
have  guessed  the  cause  of  it,  have  you  not  ?  But  you 
do  look  pale  to-day;  are  you  suffering?  Would  it  not 
be  better  if  you  go  and  sit  in  the  cart  over  there  ?  " 

"I  think  I  will,  dear,"  said  Kathleen,  "my  head 
aches  terribly." 

"Stay,  I  will  come  with  you." 

"  No,  dear,  don't  trouble,  I  can  go  —  " 

The  little  maid  turned  off,  disappeared,  and  Yvonne 
was  left  alone  in  her  little  home  of  leafage.  For  some 
ten   minutes  she  now  worked  industriously,   snipping 

[171] 


The  Lost  Viol 

off  the  cones  of  grapes,  now  stooping,  now  reaching 
up,  and  dropping  them  into  her  basket;  but  presently 
she  stopped,  looked  slyly  round,  hesitated,  and  called 
out,  "  Monsieur  Wilson !  are  you  there  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer;  she  repeated  the  call  twice, 
but  Chris  did  not  come.  In  fact,  he  had  wandered 
away,  forgetting  the  vintaging,  Yvonne  and  all,  in  his 
effort  to  catch  a  musical  something,  sad  and  sweet, 
which  buzzed  in  his  brain  that  day,  but  ever  escaped 
him. 

Yvonne  left  her  basket  there,  and  went  a  little  way 
to  seek  him,  but  checked  herself,  returned  to  her  nook 
and  worked  again;  but  she  could  find  no  rest  without 
him,  and  again  set  out  to  find  him,  with  death  treading 
close  now  at  her  elbow,  with,  as  it  were,  death  in  her 
eyes. 

She  went  down-hill  through  the  trellises  until  she 
came  to  a  place  where  the  hillside  was  rocky  and  bare, 
though  lower  down  more  vines  grew;  a  level  path  ran 
across  that  bare  place,  and  along  this  she  went:  but 
the  setting  sun  was  in  her  eyes,  and  stopping  at  one 
spot,  she  shaded  them  with  her  hand,  looking  abroad 
for  any  sign  of  Chris. 

She  stood  there  with  shaded  eyes  for  perhaps  not 
more  than  a  minute,  perhaps  two  or  three ;  but  a  second 
would  have  been  long  enough  for  the  fate  which  awaited 
her. 

Those  who  knew  her  well,  who  were  living  at  the 
time  in  the  same  house  with  her,  have  never  recovered 

[  172] 


The  Lost  Viol 

from  the  shock  of  it,  she  was  so  young  and  joyous,  so 
beautiful,  just  about  to  be  married.  When  they  sud- 
denly saw  her  lying  dead  that  afternoon,  it  was  like  a 
madness  to  them,  they  could  not  believe  their  eyes. 

On  a  ledge  of  the  hillside  perhaps  twenty  feet  above 
where  she  stood  was  one  of  the  little  carts,  holding  the 
tonneau  (or  hogshead)  into  which  the  grapes  are 
poured  from  the  baskets.  These  carts  are  tilted  up- 
ward toward  the  shafts  and  the  donkey,  and,  as  the 
hogshead  is  usually  kept  in  position  by  a  hook  and  eye, 
if  the  hook  is  slipped,  the  hogshead  tumbles  out  at 
the  tail  of  the  cart.  The  tail  of  the  cart  above  Yvonne 
was  turned  down-hill  toward  her;  Kathleen  was  in  the 
cart,  resting;  no  one  was  there  at  the  moment;  the 
reapers  were  all  buried  in  the  vines;  and  during  the 
short  time  that  Yvonne  stood  below  with  shaded  eyes, 
the  little  maid's  hand,  by  some  chance,  knocked  out 
the  hook  from  the  eye,  and  the  hogshead,  already 
heavy  with  grapes,  went  bounding  down. 

Kathleen,  seeing  what  had  happened  below,  stood  up 
in  the  cart,  spread  her  arms,  and  howled  to  Heaven ;  be- 
fore any  one  could  come  she  leapt  and  ran  howling  up 
toward  the  vines  with  a  face  of  madness;  she  met  two 
people  running  to  her,  and,  half-kneeling  to  them,  her 
hands  trembling  together  in  prayer,  she  said,  "Yvonne, 
Yvonne,  come,  come,"  and  dropped  to  the  ground. 

Chris  Wilson,  happily  for  him,  was  nowhere  near 
there:  he  had  gone  wandering  upward  beyond  the 
brow  of  the  hills,  not  caring  whither,  alone  with  that 

[  173  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

sad  musical  motif  which  enticed,  yet  always  escaped 
him.  A  note  of  it  came  to  him  Memnonian  from  that 
choir  of  colors  going  down  in  the  west;  the  leaves  in 
the  breeze  seemed  to  lisp  to  him,  "  You  see,  we  know 
the  tune  of  it,  but  can't  utter  it."  He  woke  up  to 
himself  in  an  olive-wood  a  long  way  from  l'Adhemar, 
looked  feebly  about,  and  wondered  what  had  become 
of  him.  It  was  getting  dark.  He  set  out  at  random 
with  the  aim  of  getting  back  to  l'Adhemar  or  to  Cha- 
teaubrun,  meaning  to  ask  his  way  of  any  one  whom  he 
might  meet.  But  he  had  soon  forgotten  this  aim,  and 
wandered  for  another  hour  in  roundabout  ways.  Near 
nine  o'clock,  a  peasant  who  met  him  in  an  avenue 
asked  him  if  he  had  heard  of  "  the  calamity  which  the 
lady  from  Chateaubrun  had  met  with."  Chris  listened 
absently,  and  went  on  his  way  with  a  dim  knowledge 
in  him  that  something  had  happened  to  some  one;  he 
had  not  well  understood:  the  patois  of  that  part  was 
strange  to  him.  It  was  ten  before  he  at  last  asked 
his  way  at  a  cottage;  and  it  was  midnight  before  he 
reached  Chateaubrun. 

The  chateau  seemed  to  be  in  darkness.  He  went 
in  by  an  out-of-the-way  door,  and  found  his  way 
up-stairs,  guided  here  or  there  by  a  lonely  night-light. 
Without  having  met  any  one,  he  was  passing  Yvonne's 
apartments  toward  his  own,  when  he  was  struck  by 
the  strong  light  coining  out  between  the  portieres  of 
her  ante-chamber.  He  peeped  in:  her  petit  salon  was 
alight  with  candles,  but  no  one  was  there.     He  went  in, 

[174] 


The  Lost  Viol 

and  peeped  further  into  her  cozy-corner;  it,  too,  was 
ablaze  with  candle-light,  but  without  any  one  in  it; 
he  wondered  at  this,  and  at  the  same  time  was  struck 
by  a  memory  of  what  the  peasant  had  told  him  out  in 
the  country.  Yvonne's  chamber-door  was  a  little  open, 
and  he  could  see  that  her  chamber,  too,  like  the  other 
rooms,  was  ablaze  with  candle-light.  He  stood  still 
some  time  with  a  beating  heart.  Not  a  sound  was  to 
be  heard,  save  a  very  faint  clicking  sound  from  minute 
to  minute.  At  last  he  peeped  into  the  chamber,  went 
in.  Yvonne  was  lying  on  her  bed,  dressed  for  the 
grave,  in  a  heap  of  flowers.  No  one  was  there  but  a 
nun  kneeling  in  her  black  robes  at  the  bedside,  and 
telling  her  beads  from  minute  to  minute. 

After  gazing  at  the  face  of  his  lover  for  some  minutes, 
Chris  went  away  at  an  eager  walk  to  his  own  chamber, 
in  which  he  found  a  lamp  burning.  There  he  walked 
to  and  fro  with  quick  steps  a  little  while,  then  at  an 
open  window  put  out  his  arms  to  the  rolling  heavens, 
which  was  thronged  with  such  stars  as  one  never  sees 
in  northern  countries;  a  moment  afterwards  he  turned 
sharply  inward  with  a  crimson,  crying  face,  in  a  jiffy 
had  paper  and  ink  before  him,  and  for  twenty  minutes 
was  writing  music  in  a  fierce  haste  and  heat  of  the  soul. 
What  he  had  sought  all  that  day  he  found  now:  for 
this  was  when  his  marche  funebre  quintet  in  E  flat, 
called  " Mortalitc"  was  written. 

When  it  was  finished  he  threw  himself  on  a  couch, 
empty,  griefless,  hopeless,  and  very  weary. 

[175] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"Dead,"  wrote  Hannah  (about  Yvonne),  "leaving 
me  the  humblest  creature  on  God's  earth.  What  devil 
could  have  got  into  me  against  that  girl  ?  The  wicked 
bile  in  my  heart!  That  day  in  rue  Boissy  d'Anglas 
Kathleen  as  good  as  told  me  of  her  noble,  brave  strug- 
gle, letting  it  out  in  bits,  for  she  did  not  want,  I  think, 
to  say  any  good  of  Yvonne,  and  I  should  have  guessed 
that  the  struggle  was  far  greater  than  the  hints ;  but  no, 
blind  to  it  all  —  none  so  blind  as  those  who  will  not 
see!  And  she's  dead  now,  so  young,  so  young,  and  so 
fair,  and  the  sun  has  gone  down  forever  on  my  wrath. 
Oh,  forgive,  sweet,  I'll  never  do  that  again." 

To  her  self-upbraiding  there  was  no  end,  month  after 
month  it  went  on,  with  a  grief  apparently  as  fresh  as 
on  the  first  day,  the  same  wearisome  prayers  for 
forgiveness,  and  stream  of  tears.  On  whatever  sub- 
ject she  wrote  it  presently  turned  into  a  lament  over 
Yvonne:  but  this  much  may  be  left  out  here. 

As  to  Chris  she  wrote:  "How  strangely  it  turned 
out!  had  given  him  up  for  good  and  all,  but  the  very 
day  after  my  letter  telling  of  second  marriage  must 
have  reached  him,  Yvonne  met  her  death,  and  he 
became  mine  in   a  way  once  more.     But  never  any 

[177] 


The  Lost  Viol 

more  gallopings  over  Europe  after  him,  Hannah:  all 
that  mere  holiday-making  in  guise  of  right  and  duty: 
railway  journeys,  strange  lands,  bustle,  hotels,  fighting- 
cock  fare,  like  Hodge  up  for  the  day  in  town,  all  very 
fine  and  large,  but  not  doing  work  of  Him  that  sent 
me.  A  woman  should  have  a  husband  to  beat  her 
daily,  and  if  she  hasn't,  then  must  beat  herself,  put 
her  nose  to  it,  and  work.  Chastity,  chastisement  — 
same  things.  7  will  have  a  husband  some  day,  feel  as 
certain  of  it  now  as  of  sitting  here,  but  not  for  next 
three  years  anyway:  it  should  take  him  quite  the  four 
to  get  well  over  death  of  that  dear.  I  wonder  ?  About 
that.  Then  will  present  myself  before  him  with  his 
son's  hand  in  mine.  Meantime,  must  spend  my 
strength  without  stint,  to  quell  riot  within,  if  for  no 
higher  reason,  and  not  let  that  little  whelp  asleep  there 
stop  me,  either.  If  women  were  meant  to  devote 
themselves  to  brats,  would  have  half  a  dozen  at  a 
litter,  but  one  only  meant  to  keep  you  laughing  in 
play-hour,"  etc.,  etc. 

"But  work  at  London  Hospital  unsatisfying,"  she 
wrote  in  another  place:  "five  hundred  of  us,  seem  as 
many  nurses  as  patients.  Have  never  once  felt  weary, 
and  need  something  to  pull  me  really  down,  and  take 
it  out  of  me.  Wait,  the  Lord  will  provide.  Perhaps 
when  I  become  staff-nurse  something  better  may  be 
opened ;  but  no  seeking  for  '  some  great  thing  to  do,' 
let  it  be  humble,  so  long  as  real  and  tough.  Meantime, 
plenty  of  warm  joy  inside,  and  songs  in  the  night. 

[178] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Interview  yesterday"  (in  another  place)  "with 
Bailey  at  hospital:  brought  news  that  poor  innocent 
Josef  at  Madame  Brault's  had  been  arrested  for  theft 
of  viol  and  things,  but  released.  Over  there  they  call 
being  in  choky,  'etre  au  violon,'  so  just  suited  poor 
Josef  with  viol.  Oh,  I  was  cross!  Told  Bailev  that 
if  any  more  innocent  people  to  be  arrested,  then  shall 
stop  search  altogether.  'What  next?'  I  asked,  'any 
hope?'  'Plenty  of  hope,'  he  answered:  'the  field  of 
inquiry  now  definitely  narrowed;  Mr.  Dene  quite  con- 
vinced now  that  things  not  lost  in  France,  therefore 
in  England,  and  in  England  must  be  looked  for. 
'Looked  for  and  found  two  different  things,'  I  said: 
'you  must  think  I  am  millionaire.'  'We  will  drop 
investigation,  if  you  wish,'  he  said.  Told  him  '  No, 
keep  it  going  to  bitter  end';  then  told  him  dream, 
twice  dreamt  in  three  months,  in  which  Sir  Peter 
appeared  to  me  in  shroud,  holding  out  viol  and  box, 
in  such  a  marvelous  light  each  time.  Bailey  not  much 
impressed  by  dreams!  Agent  to  go  down  at  once  to 
Orrock,  search  to  be  transferred  there  for  the  present. 
New  check,  £\7,  like  getting  blood  out  of  stone. 
Then  in  afternoon  went  all  alone  to  inter-'Varsity 
match  at  Lords,"  etc. 

'Twenty-seven  to-day,"  she  wrote  on  the  21st  of 
November,  her  birthday:  "getting  on,  Hannah,  but 
as  blooming  to-day  as  ever  was  —  more  so.  '  That 
ye  may  have  life,  and  have  it  more  abundantly.'  Spent 
whole   afternoon  here  in   Guilford   Street  with   baby, 

[179] 


The  Lost  Viol 

jaws  sore  with  laughing,  when,  about  five,  two  newsboys 
shouting  in  street:  'Great  British  disaster,'  sixty-five 
killed  and  wounded,  making  me  feel  pretty  choky:  no 
end  to  the  devilish  war.  Birthday  letter  from  mummie 
this  morning,  with  two  turkeys  and  pigmeat;  wants  to 
know  if  she  can't  come  up  to  me,  since  I  won't  go 
down.  Yes,  when  my  child  has  a  father,  not  till  then. 
She  suspects  that  paper-shop  address  is  not  my  real 
address,  asks  if  I  am  'hiding  anything  from  her'! 
Imagine  her  stare,  if  she  only  dreamt  what  lies  asleep 
there!  Poor  mummie,  you  will  know  some  day. 
Meantime,  'Let  not  thy  left  hand  know!'  Each  live 
life  in  own  skin,  not  burden  others  with  one's  ha'penny 
cares,  mishaps,  and  shames:  lock  it  all  up  in  own 
bosom,  and  throw  key  away.  Don't  mean  to  be  cross- 
examined,  either;  shall  go  down  when  I  want  to,  not 
before.  They  used  to  say  I  wasn't  very  devoted 
daughter,  and  now  Mrs.  Reid  here  all  hints  that  I  am 
not  very  devoted  mother :  '  How  you  can  bear  to  leave 
him,  I  don't  know!'  Poor  thing:  so  pathetic.  God 
grant  me  true,  manly  emotions,  not  unreal,  like  most 
women's:  there  are  a  few  other  things  about  beside  my 
mother  and  child,  a  God  in  labor  pains  and  a  world 
squalling,  both  needing  nursing.  As  for  brat,  if  he  is 
neglected,  that's  self-neglect,  for  he  is  the  same  thing 
as  myself:  some  things  your  own,  some  your  ownest 
own,  and  some  your  own  ownest  own.  Toss  him 
about  like  doll,  kill  and  eat  him,  if  I  chose,  and  not 
ask  anyone's  leave  —  would  only  be  suicide. 

[180] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"  Mummie  anxious  about  my  money-matters,  thinks 
the  <£10  a  month  since  I  refused  Chris's  money  not 
enough;  doesn't  know  that  I  am  putting  it  all  away 
in  bank,  and,  besides,  getting  £12  a  year  as  proba- 
tioner, all  found  down  to  uniform.  Three  months 
hence  will  begin  to  get  £2  for  second  year.  Can't 
she  guess  that  I  am  not  sitting  down  idly,  waiting  for 
husband  to  turn  up  ?  But  why  couldn't  I  have  told 
her  about  hospital  ?  Liking  to  go  one's  own  way  in 
silence  may  become  a  fault.  Shall  tell  her  in  next 
letter,  without  saying  which  hospital. 

"  Five  sweet  birthday-letters  enclosed  in  mummie's, 

and  others  from  Bishop  W ,  Kathleen,  Sir  F.  T , 

and  my  Willie,  who  never  forgets  date  of  his  ducking! 
He  working  in  timber-yard  at  Chelsea  now;  hasn't 
been  to  see  me  for  five  weeks.  Kathleen  with  Miss 
Olivia  in  Paris,  still  subject  to  bad  dreams,  frights,  and 
breakdowns  through  death  of  Yvonne,  now  and  again 
sees  Chris,  and  would  like  to  know  'What  are  your 
plans?'  But  this  the  odd  thing:  she  says,  'If  you  had 
had  a  child,  that  would  have  been  a  link  between  you 
and  Chris.'  That's  odd!  This  the  second  time  she 
has  referred  to  possibility  of  a  child,  as  though  she 
knew  or  guessed  something.  But  not  possible.  Have 
never  yet  found  out  whether  she  knows  of  my  second 
marriage.  She  was  at  Chateaubrun  when  I  wrote 
news  of  it  to  Chris.  Do  hope  she  doesn't  know:  but 
all  the  same  a  hundred  years  hence,  dear,  when  we 
both  sleeping  in  mother's  arms,  poppies  whispering  all 

[181] 


The  Lost  Viol 

the  summer,  little  hunch  pulled  quite  straight  then, 
such  is  His  mercy,  and  Hannah's  brawl  nicely  hushed. 

"Oh,  do  so  hunger  and  thirst  lately  to  see  the  old 
place  once  more,  the  cliffs,  geese,  graves,  Woodside 
old  gables,  coots  on  Embree  Pond,  the  sea.  Shall  go 
first  chance,  but  late  at  night,  no  one  to  see:  a  child, 
and  no  husband  to  show  for  it,  ladies.  'Avoid  the 
very  appearance  of  evil,'  and  'Let  not  thy  left  hand 
know.'  But  a  grave  in  that  place  draws  me.  Is  it 
kept  fresh  with  flowers  ?  He  had  a  love  for  old  apples 
and  apple-blossoms,  so  that's  what  they  should  heap 
on  mostly.  The  dead  long  for  flowers  to  keep  them 
going.  How  I  have  abandoned  him!  That  old  man's 
love  for  me!  And  mine  for  you,  too,  dear.  If  you 
hadn't  love  me  so  quick,  I  should  have  beaten  you 
and  loved  you  first.  Shall  soon  come  to  you:  it's  the 
hospital,  the  brat,  the  eternal  violin,  and  the  hard, 
hard  reading  that  have  kept  me  away;  must  vow  to 
give  up  cricket-matches  all  next  summer. 

"  Chris  just  finished  Bavarian  tour,  says  Kathleen, 
and  due  in  England  in  four  months:  will  see  him  then 
without  being  seen  —  only  the  second  time  since  mar- 
riage. What  can  he  possibly  think  of  me  after  that 
letter  telling  of  second  marriage  ?  Does  he  guess 
motive  ?  How  did  he  take  it  ?  Would  give  the  world 
to  know.  My  complete  ignorance  of  his  mind  now! 
But  wait,  all's  quite  well:  death  of  Yvonne  proves  him 
my  very  own,  in  spite  of  all.  No  end  apparently  to 
his  achievement:  Kathleen   says  playing  double  har- 

[  182] 


The  Lost  Viol 

monies  in  rapidest  passages,  whole  melodies  in  har- 
monics, in  Vienna  ties  and  walking-sticks  called  after 
him,  his  last  sonata  all  the  rage  everywhere,  tours  like 
triumphal  progresses.  Have  a  thought  of  writing  to 
him  in  assumed  name,  just  to  see  if  he  will  answer: 
but  wait  till  my  love  comes  to  England." 


[  183  ] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

After  another  month  the  diary  becomes  gloomy 
reading,  where  she  writes  of  leaving  the  London 
Hospital.  "Dismissal,"  she  wrote,  "for  it  comes  to 
that.  I'd  rather  they  had  said  plain  'go'  than  say 
'  Please  ask  to  be  allowed  to  go.'  It  was  like  a  thunder- 
bolt, I  had  so  set  my  mind  upon  becoming  staff-nurse 
—  only  eleven  more  months :  now  all  dark  before  me 
again,  nothing  to  do  but  stare  at  Foundling  boys  at 
drill  in  mornings,  and  moon  with  baby  all  day.  Where- 
in hath  she  offended  ?  Presentation-Bible  from  pro- 
bationers at  parting,  everybody  in  tears  because  of 
my  going,  I  inclined  that  way  for  same  reason,  yet 
going  all  the  same,  bewitched,  not  knowing  why! 
Matron  must  have  heard  something  somehow  —  about 
child  ?  about  second  marriage  ?  Seems  impossible, 
but  must  be.  Was  down  in  Chelsea  to  my  Willie 
yesterday,  questioned  him  narrowly:  no,  had  not 
breathed  a  word  to  a  soul.  Anyway,  bitter  and 
shameful  enough.  Oh,  you  could  sit  down  and  cry, 
Hannah,  if  you  only  would." 

But  scarcely  two  weeks  had  passed  when  she  was 
out  of  this  slough  of  despond,  and  once  more  in  her 
brighter  mood.     It  came  about  through  a  boy  named 

[185] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Ralphie,"  of  whom  she  often  wrote.  She  seems  to 
have  met  him  at  a  little  meeting-house  Sunday-school 
in  the  Euston  Road,  for  she  belonged  to  all  the  religious 
sects  in  the  world,  and  wrote  of  them,  "the  more  the 
merrier."  "  Ralphie's  "  mother  fell  ill,  Hannah  went  to 
see  her,  and  at  the  bedside  met  a  little  St.  Pancras- 
Dispensary  doctor  who  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  brought 
her  into  touch  with  more  sick  people.  In  all  that  part 
between  Guilford  Street  and  St.  Pancras  there  is  no 
lack  of  wretchedness  and  disease,  and  her  days  and 
nights,  too,  were  soon  as  full  of  work  and  hurry  as  she 
could  wish,  though  in  an  unofficial  way.  After  only 
five  or  six  weeks  of  it,  when  she  had  met  several  doctors, 
patrons,  and  influential  people,  she  wrote  the  extraor- 
dinary words:  "My  own  hospital  some  day  perhaps," 
meaning  that  the  little  so-called  "Medical  Mission," 
now  in  Compton  Place,  which  she  helped  to  found, 
was  already  in  sight.  On  the  top  of  all  this  bustling 
activity  came  Chris  Wilson,  of  whose  first  concert  she 
wrote:  "St.  James's  Hall  yesterday  afternoon:  my  same 
boy,  a  little  bigger,  hair  worn  a  little  longer.  Some 
difference  between  yesterday  and  that  first  night  at 
Queen's  Hall,  not  the  same  thrill  beforehand,  but  even 
greater  emotion  during,  and  ado  after,  concert.  If  I 
had  had  a  veil,  would  have  tried  to  shake  hands  like 
the  rest,  but  hadn't  thought  of  veil,  and  didn't  dare. 
Not  according  to  the  plan,  Hannah.  Wait,  only  two 
years  and  a  half,  say  two  years,  a  man  can't  love  the 
sweetest  ghost  longer,  then  he  will  take  you.     I  love 

[186] 


The  Lost  Viol 

him  as  friend,  as  husband,  as  little  papa,  as  sweetheart, 
and  as  workman:  really  wondrous  tremolo  use  of  left 
hand  now,  something  like  three  octaves  out  of  each 
string,  twice  changed  pitch  of  G  in  height  of  last  piece 
by  turn  of  peg.  See  program  gummed  on  other  side. 
Came  home  'sick  with  love,'  and  under  strong  im- 
pulse wrote  letter  straight  away,  signed  'Viola.'  See 
copy,  p.  71,"  etc.,  etc. 

"Hip!  hip!"  she  wrote  two  days  later,  "answer  to 
'Viola'  this  morning  from  Chris!  Never  thought  he 
would  answer!     Here  it  is: 

"'4  Gray's  Inn  Square. 
'"My  dear  Viola, 

"'I  thank  you  infinitely  for  your  letter,  which  I 
find  no  less  than  charming,  and  I  have  a  perfect  con- 
viction that  you  are  as  charming  in  your  person  as  in 
your  writing.  Imagine,  then,  my  trouble,  when, 
having  sent  my  valet  to-day  to  make  inquiries  at  the 
address  which  you  give,  he  brought  me  back  the  intelli- 
gence that  none  such  as  you  lives  there,  since  the  place 
is  only  a  little  paper-shop.  Let  me  beseech  you,  dear 
Viola,  to  place  me  at  once  in  a  better  position  with 
regard  to  you.  The  proof  that  I  am  seriously  concerned 
is  this  letter,  since  it  is  well  known  that  I  am  not  fond 
of  writing  letters,  and  am  daily  compelled  to  leave 
missives  from  unknown  correspondents  unanswered. 
But  yours  has  seriously  fascinated  my  fancy,  I  picture 
you  as  a  being  endowed  with  every  grace,  and  desire 

[187] 


The  Lost  Viol 

to  see  you.  If  you  do  not  let  me  see  you  at  once,  I 
shall  become  lovesick  and  restless,  my  work  will  be 
disturbed,  and  you  would  certainly  not  wish  this.  Or 
perhaps  you  do  not  care  to  give  me  your  address  at 
once  ?  but  mean  to  wait  till  your  modesty  is  appeased 
by  time  ?  In  which  case,  let  me  remind  you  that  youth 
is  short,  that  the  flowers  of  to-morrow  grow  for  others, 
but  to-day  is  Love's  opportunity;  moreover,  my  stay 
in  England  will  not  be  long.  Do  for  me,  then,  what 
you  can  in  this,  will  you  ?  For  if  my  longings  are 
balked,  everything  goes  wrong  with  me.  If  you  can't 
let  me  see  you  at  once,  pray  let  me  have  your  photo- 
graph without  delay.  Long  as  your  letter  was,  it  left 
in  me  a  kind  of  longing  desire  for  more,  rather  than  a 
satiety.  Your  hand-writing,  though  strong,  I  find 
thrillingly  feminine;  and  you  have  scented  the  paper 
with  a  heavenly  art.  Why,  by  the  way,  do  you  so 
object  to  this  word  'art,'  and  wish  it  'left  out  of  the 
dictionary  ? '  Is  it  not  too  old  a  friend  ?  But  we  will 
discuss  your  letter  particularly  at  our  near  meeting. 

" '  Sincerely  yours,  dear  Viola, 

"'Chris  Wilson.'" 

'Was  rather  afraid,"  wrote  Hannah  of  the  letters, 
"  that  he  might  recognize  my  handwriting,  for  has  seen 
it  once  or  twice.  However,  all  safe  henceforth.  Let 
two  days  pass,  then  wrote  following: 

"'Dear  Chris  Wilson: 

"'I  was  surprised  and  glad  to  get  your  letter.     Let 

[188] 


The  Lost  Viol 

me  say  at  once  that  I  shall  be  sorry  indeed  if  your 
work  is  "  disturbed  "  through  me,  but  I  can't  give  you 
my  address,  nor  even  send  you  my  photograph.  Does 
it  follow,  because  you  are  a  great  "artist,"  that  you 
may  send  such  commands  to  a  woman  who  merely 
wrote  to  express  her  liking  for  your  fiddling  ?  Just  as 
all  men  are  not  fiddlers,  so  all  women  are  not  fiddles, 
sir!  But  you  won't  go  lovesick  after  a  shadow?  I 
happen  to  know  that  you  once  took  to  your  bed  through 
longing  for  some  odor  which  you  had  smelled,  or 
dreamt  that  you  had  smelled.  I  don't  call  that  vir- 
tuous. But  you  shall  see  me.  That  is  a  promise. 
Not  when  you  order  me,  but  when  /  see  fit,  perhaps  a 
good  time  hence,  one  day  I  shall  certainly  present 
myself  before  you.  And  I  promise  also  that  in  that 
day  I  shall  bring  you  in  my  hands  a  present  worthy 
of  you  and  me  —  a  rich  one  —  richer  than  a  king's 
ransom,  cunningly  made,  richer  than  Koh-i-noor  added 
to  Le  Messie,  La  Pucelle,  and  all  the  Strads  in  the 
world.  That  may  sound  rather  wild  talk,  but  I  already 
have  the  thing  by  me,  am  keeping  it  for  you,  and  you 
may  rely  upon  my  promise.  Meantime,  as  I  can't 
send  my  photograph,  I  may  tell  you,  to  keep  you 
going,  that  I  am  by  no  means  an  old  woman,  am 
tallish,  no  skin-and-bones,  every  tooth  sound  in  my 
head,  figure  straight  as  a  dart  and  strong  in  the  back, 
not  bad  looking  up  above,  nice  country  color,  a  little 
too  much  jaw  perhaps,  but  laughing,  deep  blue  eyes 
to  make  up.     Not  a  bad  lot  altogether,  well-meaning, 

[  189  1 


The  Lost  Viol 

but  stumbling  and  purblind.  That's  Viola.  But  what 
surprises  me  in  your  letter  is  your  '  desire  to  see '  this 
unknown  Viola  only  nineteen  months  after  the  death 
of  Yvonne  de  Pencharry-Strannik.  You  see,  I  know 
things.  Am  I  right  or  wrong  in  deciding  that  "  Mor- 
talite  "  was  written  with  your  eyes  fixed  on  her  beatified 
image?  I  am  sure  that  that  hymn  is  truly  of  God. 
You  will  let  her  memory  fade  with  the  tenderest  slow- 
ness? I  always  think  now  of  white  violets  when  I 
think  of  her.  These,  too,  must  fade,  though  watered 
with  tears,  but  with  a  lingering,  sweet  decay.  Then 
I  shall  like  you  a  lot,  and  do  am/thing  for  you.  As  to 
my  attack  on  the  word  "art,"  I  only  meant  that  all 
meaning  seems  to  have  got  rubbed  out  of  it  now.  It 
implies  artfulness,  thought?  yes,  but  was  " Mortalite" 
a  work  of  thought  ?  No :  so  we  have  a  word  meaning 
thought  used  to  describe  works  purely  emotional  and 
instinctive.  I  want  to  consult  you  about  a  viola  which 
I  have  come  across  lying  under  a  bed  in  a  quite  poor 
house  in  Islington,  looking  wondrously  like  a  Maggini, 
with  clear-cut  bouts,  short  corners,  and  upright  //'s, 
clover-leaves  and  trefoils  on  back.  I  could  get  it,  if 
I  chose,  for  —  how  much  do  you  think  ?  —  £2,  and 
am  haunted  by  the  possibility  of  its  genuineness.  Shall 
I  get  and  send  it  you  ?  Varnish  orange  and  palest 
yellow,  with  dated  label.  Or  will  you  not  write  again  ? 
I  have  a  whole  heartful  to  say  to  you  by  little  and 
little,  if  you  will  hear. 

"'Your  sincere  Viola.'" 

[190] 


The  Lost  Viol 

This  letter- writing  between  "Viola"  and  Chris 
Wilson  was  still  in  its  earliest  stage  when  Hannah's 
quietness  of  mind  was  troubled  by  a  little  thing  —  the 
disappearance  of  " her"  Willie.  " Hadn't  seen  him  for 
four  months,"  she  wrote  of  him ;  "  began  to  get  anxious, 
and  went  down  ...  to  his  timber-yard  in  Chelsea. 
Not  there,  had  left  months  before  —  without  telling 
me  a  word !  One  of  workmen  said :  '  Dawe  must  have 
come  into  a  fortune;  saw  him  one  evening  five  weeks 
ago  at  Charing  Cross,  dressed  up  like  a  lord,  watch  and 
chain  and  cane,  with  a  young  lady  on  his  arm.'  Can't 
be  true!  Wrote  to  Mrs.  Dawe  to  ask,  and  this  morning 
her  answer  that  she  doesn't  know  where  Willie  is;  says 
that  Kathleen,  too,  has  wanted  his  address,  and  she 
gave  it;  doesn't  think  that  since  then  she  has  got  either 
money  or  letter  from  him;  doesn't  say  why  Kathleen 
wanted  address.  That  must  have  been  when  Kathleen 
was  in  England  and  went  down  to  Orrock  about  four 
months  ago;  she  called  at  paper-shop  address  thinking 
to  see  me,  about  then.  Anyway,  my  Willie  gone, 
perhaps  out  of  work,  clothes  shabby,  and  ashamed  to 
come  to  me!  But  strange  he  hasn't  written  to  his 
mother.  Why  did  Kathleen  want  him  ?  Don't  even 
know  where  she  is  now  —  not  at  the  Hill." 

"  Interview  in  drawing-room  with  Bailey,"  she  wrote 
two  days  later,  "and  never  was  so  utterly  mystified. 
Something  discovered  at  last:  viol  and  box  seen  behind 
bureau  in  Hall  library  on  morning  of  Sir  Peter's  funeral ! 
If  he  had  said, '  Man-in-the-moon  seen  playing  cricket,' 

[191] 


The  Lost  Viol 

I  couldn't  have  been  more  hopelessly  astonished.  He 
heard  it  from  under-housemaid  Jane,  who,  when  Hall- 
servants  were  put  on  half- pay,  and  some  dismissed, 
went  home  to  parents  in  Nottinghamshire ;  after  endless 
bother  Bailey  found  her  down  there  in  a  coffee-house, 
and  she  is  sure  of  facts:  saw  the  things  behind  bureau 
— '  thing  like  a  fiddle,  a  little  larger,  only  without  any 
handle,  and  cardboard  box  like  a  collar-box '  —  won- 
dered how  they  had  got  there,  didn't  like  to  touch, 
next  time  she  looked  they  were  gone!  Must  be  true, 
since  she  can  describe  them  exactly.  But  the  wonder 
of  it!  Who,  and  with  what  motive,  could  steal  just 
those  two  things,  and  nothing  else  ?  Does  any  one 
know  my  secret,  and  how  ?  Does  this  explain  dreams 
about  Sir  Peter  ?  But  don't  try  to  see  through  stone- 
wall, Hannah,  take  deep  breaths,  and  possess  your 
soul.  Worry  about  this,  however,  that  I  must  have 
left  trunk  open  some  time,  and  no  hope  for  me,  if  I 
continue  that  sort  of  slovenly  life.  Only  two  days  ago 
Drs.  Lloyd  and  Herrick  complimenting  my  '  powers  of 
organization'  'would  have  been  a  general,  if  a  man,' 
when  I  had  the  thought,  'but  if  you  only  knew  some 
of  the  things  I  forget,  the  silly,  childish  mistakes  and 
omissions  in  most  important  matters';  can't  help  it! 
a  screw  loose  somewhere,  the  sex  of  the  girl,  perhaps. 
"Anyway,  so  the  matter  stands  about  viol  and  box, 
and  now,  with  a  clue,  they  may  turn  up  any  day. 
Gave  Bailey  new  check,  .£11.15;  then,  when  he  was 
gone,  the  frenzy  came  upon  me  to  be  in  the  old  place 

[  192] 


The  Lost  Viol 

that  very  night!  and  if  old  Pat  had  got  worse  during 
absence  would  have  served  me  just  right.  Several 
things  forbade  me  to  go  that  night;  no  good;  had  been 
hearing  too  much  from  Bailey  about  everybody  down 
there,  just  wrote  notes  to  doctors,  was  away  by  the 
8.37,  and  now  in  a  rage  with  myself  for  it,  like  drunk- 
ard's awaking.  Impulse,  and  tearing,  stumbling  self- 
will.  But  enjoyed  myself  thoroughly;  walked  from 
Cromer,  and  between  midnight  and  five  a.  m.  ranged 
everywhere,  saw  everything,  without  being  seen  by  a 
soul;  cloudy,  drizzling,  with  moon  now  and  again 
a  little;  sat  ten  minutes  on  Woodside  side-steps  with 
Rover;  at  the  grave  half  an  hour  in  the  dark  o'  the 
moon,  boats  out  on  sea  at  the  pots;  heaped  it  with 
clove-carnations,  heartsease,  tulip,  harebell.  Just  over 
Scoble's  Cave  a  bit  of  cliff  gone  like  the  wall  of  a  house, 
debris  still  there  at  bottom,  and  a  narrow  slice,  a  foot 
thick,  from  south  end  of  graveyard;  makes  me  sad 
every  time:  no  end  to  it.  He  gives,  and  He  takes 
away." 

The  strange  fact  to  what  she  refers  here  is  to  be  seen 
more  or  less  at  work  all  round  Britain.  Yorkshire 
every  year  loses  thirty  acres;  between  Spurn  Head  and 
Whitby  five  feet  a  year  are  swallowed  up;  between 
Bridlington  and  the  Humber  a  hundred  yards  are  said 
to  have  vanished  within  fifty  years.  The  lane  where 
lovers  plighted  their  troth  may  be  gone  before  the 
wedding  day,  and  "soon  where  late  we  stood  shall  no 
man    stand,"    says    Mr.    Swinburne.     It    is    rather   a 

[193] 


The  Lost  Viol 

painful  thing:  timber  and  stones  may  prop  the  cliffs 
here  or  there,  but  the  North  Sea  is  an  army  with 
banners  whose  march  is  long  and  strong,  England  is 
being  invaded,  and  where  Napoleon  faltered  God  will 
effect  a  landing.  Ravenspur,  once  a  great  seaport,  is 
no  more  to  be  found;  Auburn  and  Hyde  are  where  no 
one  can  trace  them.  In  Norfolk,  one  Cromer  is  gone, 
the  other  going;  Shipden  and  Eccles  are  "as  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah";  and  Sheppey  has  lost  three  hundred 
yards  within  the  memory  of  its  people.  At  some  points 
there  is  now  a  superstition  against  buiying  in  the  east 
side  of  the  church  toward  the  sea,  so  common  a  sight 
have  out-sticking  coffins  become.  On  the  west  coast, 
too  —  in  Wales,  in  Lancashire,  at  many  points  —  the 
Atlantic  with  a  still  longer  and  stronger  march  is 
pressing  to  effect  a  junction  with  the  North  Sea,  and 
it  is  said  that  in  a  certain  number  of  years,  which  to 
the  Eternal  is  as  an  hour,  ships  will  reef  their  sails  in 
a  rough  mid-sea  where  the  dream  of  England  was. 
It  is  not  strange  if  the  poor  fishers  and  tillers  of  the  soil 
upon  whom  such-like  thoughts  are  daily  forced  have 
a  certain  sigh,  a  certain  sadness  of  outlook. 


[  194] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

As  to  Kathleen,  she  had  all  this  time  been  as  quiet 
as  a  mouse,  and  was  to  be  found  hobbling  to  church 
services.  The  death  of  Yvonne  de  Pencharry-Strannik 
had  come  upon  her  as  one  of  those  bullying  thunder- 
claps which  overawe  all  men,  save  heroes.  It  was 
with  her  as  when  a  child  touches  a  hot  grate,  and 
touches  a  grate  no  more  for  years.  The  little  maid 
seems  to  have  been  troubled  with  a  doubt  whether  that 
death  of  Yvonne  was  not  in  some  way  owing  to  her 
will;  it  is  to  be  feared  that  she  suspected  herself:  and 
at  this  thing  Kathleen  gave  up  Chris  Wilson  as  utterly 
as  Hannah  had  given  him  up  during  those  three  days 
between  her  second  marriage  and  the  death  of  Yvonne : 
nothing  was  left  in  Kathleen  but  awe  of  a  universe  in 
which  there  is  room  for  such  outbreaks  and  Gorgons. 

But  such  awes  little  by  little  lose  their  power,  and 
the  snail  dares  to  peep  out  afresh.  Kathleen  saw 
Chris  Wilson  here  or  there,  each  time  with  a  renewed 
feeling  of  worldliness  and  enterprise;  she  began  to  be 
bitter  again  at  Hannah's  claim  upon  him,  at  Hannah's 
probable  hopes  and  plans;  it  soon  occurred  to  her  that 
it  might  be  a  good  thing  to  make  Willie  Dawe,  Hannah's 
second  "husband,"  her  slave,  by  keeping  him  in  clover; 

[195] 


The  Lost  Viol 

then  she  was  to  be  found  writing  that  "  Chris  is  again 
madly  in  love,  this  time  not  with  a  woman,  but  with  a 
dream:  she  calls  herself  'Viola,'  he  has  never  seen  her, 
but  she  has  promised  to  see  him  some  day,  bearing  in 
her  hand  some  marvelous  present  which  is  to  outweigh 
all  the  great  diamonds!     So  he  told  me  last  night  in 
the  lobby  of  the  Opera.     What  a  boy!     His  romantic 
fancy  dresses  her  in  the  rainbow.     The  correspondence 
has  been   going  on   some  two  years   now,   all   about 
music,  art,  life,  love.     'She  inspires  me,'  he  told  me, 
'  guides  me,  loves  me,  and  in  the  oddest  way  knows  all 
about  me,  Kathleen.     Her  letters  are  the  very  genius 
of  good  sense,  and  yet  contain  the  essence  of  a  certain 
materialistic    mysticism    which    I    can't    tell    you    of. 
Moreover,  she  is  the  very  spirit  of  Woman,  and  always 
somehow  about  me:  sometimes  she  knows  how  many 
glasses  of  absinthe  I  take  at  the  cafe,  and  the  next  day 
writes  to  tell  me  of  it.     Yet  I  never  see  her;  but  I  soon 
shall,  for  she  has  promised  it.'     All  cloud,  cloud.     Who 
can    it    be?     Some    Austrian    landgrafin    or    Russian 
princess,  old,  no  doubt,  and  hideous:  she  won't  send 
him  her  photograph  —  wise  woman.     I  don't  see  why 
I  should  be  so  haunted  and  agitated  by  it;  but  it  is 
such  a  pang  to  be  jealous  of  the  unknown.     He  is  so 
interested,  that  the  quixote  actually  keeps  copies  of 
some  of  his  own  letters.     After  a  lot  of  praying  he 
consented  to  let  me  peep  at  the  packet;  he  has  it  in 
the  rue  de  Rome,  and  I  am  to  go  this  afternoon  at 
five.  ..." 

[196] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"It  was  well  conceived,  Hannah,"  Kathleen  wrote 
three  days  later,  "  but  your  patience  has  done  for  you, 
you  have  waited  too  long.  If  she  had  come  to  Chris, 
saying,  'I  am  Viola,'  may  be  on  the  sudden  he  would 
have  fallen  to  her;  but  if  I  tell  him  casually  one  day, 
'Viola"  is  only  Hannah,'  that's  another  matter,  the 
spell  will  be  broken.  After  all,  '  Lady  Wilson '  is  an 
inappropriate  name  for  Farmer  Langler's  daughter, 
with  all  her  talents.  I  have  read  the  letters;  Chris 
allowed  me  to  bring  them  to  the  hotel  for  two  days, 
read  a  few  of  them  aloud  to  me  himself:  he  is  gone 
just  daft  over  'Viola.'  Who  on  earth  taught  Hannah 
Langler  to  write  letters  ?  One  must  admit  that  she 
has  a  calm,  strong  brain,  and  some  grace  in  writing 
which  has  grown  with  practice:  four  or  five  of  the  letters 
are  worthy  of  George  Sand,  and  two  or  three  of 
Madame  de  Sevigny.  I  wonder  that  she  ventured  to 
write  them  in  her  own  hand!  Her  second  marriage 
letter  was  typewritten,  but  I  suppose  she  thought  it 
too  much  trouble  to  get  these  typewritten,  and  risked 
it.  Oh,  if  I  had  her  calm  audacity!  I  am  bold,  too, 
but  only  in  white-hot  fits,  and  then  all  too  bold,  perhaps, 
little  hunch.  Chris  must  have  seen  her  handwriting 
somewhere,  if  only  in  Orrock  church,  but,  of  course, 
forgot  it.  He  provokes  me  with  his  simplicity,  men 
have  no  wits.  The  moment  I  saw  the  writing  I  felt 
almost  certain,  and  soon  I  came  across  this  bit:  'I 
know  a  countryman  named  Butt,  who,  sitting  still  in 
a  place  where  every  one  was  dancing,  was  asked  by  a 

[197] 


The  Lost  Viol 

certain  squire,  "Well,  why  don't  you  dance,  Butt?" 
"Lord  bless  us  all,  squire,"  answered  Butt,  "if  a  man 
can't  jig,  he  can't  jig."  So  ever  since  he  goes  by  the 
name  of  Jig-Butt.  Well,  the  same  with  fiddling:  if 
a  gel  can't  scrape,  she  can't  scrape.'  Then,  of  course, 
I  knew  my  Hannah:  who  else  on  earth  but  Lady 
Wilson  cares  what  name  Mr.  Butt  of  Orrock '  goes  by '  ? 
She  is  essentially  'of  the  people,'  but  has  got  some 
finesse  by  dint  of  willing. 

"  I  have  spent  two  days  over  the  letters,  which  would 
fill  a  volume,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Chris  has  been 
edified.  She  writes  with  enough  aplomb!  'I  under- 
stand that  you  have  a  tendency  to  give  up  practise 
now,  and  are  taking  to  a  mute,  and  though  I  repeat 
to  myself  that  you  must  know  better  than  I  can  what 
you  are  about,  I  have  searchings  of  heart  as  to  this. 
Consider  if  it  is  well,  beloved.  In  the  sort  of  feverish 
life  which  you  lead  "the  inner  life"  becomes  doubly 
precious  ?  .  .  .  When  thou  hast  entered  into  thy  closet, 
pray:  for  "  working  is  praying,"  even  when  it  is  playing. 
...  I  myself  am  living  a  full,  robustious  life  just  now, 
and  sometimes,  after  some  sleep,  can  only  just  keep  my 
feet  from  dancing  all  over  the  place.  The  last  time 
I  ran  over  to  France,  just  to  see  your  face,  I  did  not 
once  sleep  for  ninety-six  hours  afterwards,  and  some 
days,  having  only  time  for  one  meal,  I  carry  pastry  in 
my  pocket,  so  whenever  my  envelopes  reach  you  greasy 
you  will  know  from  what  pit  they  have  been  drawn.' 
Three  whole  letters  are  a  discussion  of  the  meaning  of 

[198] 


The  Lost  Viol 

'virtue'!  She  had  written  'ladylike  arid  unvirtuous,' 
and,  Chris  not  agreeing,  she  answers:  'I  have  been 
hunting  down  "virtue"  to-day,  and  find  that  the 
Greek  is  from  ar,  a  male,  and  in  Latin  the  same,  from 
vir,  a  male.  So  virtue  means  vigor?  In  which  ease 
Tannhauser  was  merely  unwell  ?  and  the  Venusberg  a 
slum  ?  Virtue  is  health  of  mind  ?  health  is  virtue  of 
body  ?  A  burglar  is  in  the  room  of  a  sleeping  saint : 
which  of  the  two  is  the  more  virtuous?  the  burglar? 
for  "virtue,"  "vigor,"  "health,"  "life,"  "joy"  are  all 
one?  You  can  choose  any  one  of  them  you  like,  and 
throw  the  rest  out  of  the  dictionary.'  If  she  had  her 
way,  not  many  words  would  be  left  in  the  dictionary, 
apparently:  she  wants  'art'  to  go,  and  elsewhere 
'spirit.'  'God  is  a  spirit,'  she  says,  'but  what  is  a 
spirit?  /  don't  know,  so  look  in  the  dictionary,  and 
find  that  the  people  who  wrote  it  had  no  idea  either. 
As  applied  to  Alicante  wine,  I  know  well  what  it  means : 
and  you,  perhaps  ?  But  otherwise,  it  has  no  right  to 
be  about,  since  we  don't  mean  anything  when  we  say 
it,  but  thinking  that  we  do,  trick  ourselves.'  Her 
cocksure  tone  of  'having  authority'!  I  wonder  that 
it  never  occurred  to  me  to  enter  into  such  a  correspond- 
ence with  Chris:  I  could  have  done  it  just  like  her, 
or  better.  Her  phrases  are,  'be  ye  therefore  perfect,' 
and  'that  ye  may  have  life,  and  have  it  more  abun- 
dantly'; twenty,  thirty  times  these  recur,  her  'life' 
meaning  mere  'health':  au  fond  she  is  a  materialist. 
Some  of  her  little  bits  are  not  bad:  'The  first  duty  of 

[199] 


The  Lost  Viol 

a  modern  man  is  to  be  modern,  the  second  is  to  be 
modest,  to  know  himself  primeval,  and  feel  the  ro- 
mance of  Time';  'health,  like  wealth,  is  the  product 
of  daily  industry:  happiness  consists  in  martyrdom, 
torture,  athletics,  physical  and  mental;  but  oh,  how 
easy  is  this  yoke,  and  how  joyfully  light  this  burden!' 
'  I  have  found  out  that  the  "  ma  "  of  little  children  really 
means  "food,"  but  as  food  comes  from  mother,  "ma" 
soon  gets  to  mean  mother';  'health,  I  take  it,  isn't  the 
mere  absence  of  discomfort  and  sin  —  that's  only  a 
first  step  up  Snowdon  and  Mont  Blanc  —  but  a  choky 
lump  of  worship  inside,  tears  in  the  eyes,  and  laughter 
all  down  below';  'in  the  present  stage  of  things  there 
are  existing  together  ape,  underman,  man,  and  over- 
man :  the  product  of  the  extremes  is  equal  to  the  product 
of  the  means';  'a  quick  memory,  and  a  certain  two- 
eyed  faculty,  meaning  the  power  of  seeing  one  thing 
through  the  right  eye  at  the  same  moment  as  one  sees 
another  through  the  left  eye  —  a  question  of  athletics 
—  these,  I  think,  are  the  makings  of  the  saint,  of  the 
superhuman  and  divine  man';  'the  most  important 
part  of  the  body  is  the  soul';  'I  went  to  see  Sandow 
perform  last  night:  to  me  he  is  a  true  saint  and  holy 
one,  or  at  least  a  true  half-saint;  if  he  were  as  good 
a  Christian  as  he  is  an  athlete,  meaning  that  if  he  kept 
his  nerve-matter,  or  soul,  in  as  good  form  as  he  keeps 
his  muscle-matter,  he  would  be  about  four  times 
greater  than  all  the  martyrs,  seers,  and  prophets'; 
'  was   Shakespeare    Bacon  ?     Bacon    and    more !     Say 

[200] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Bacon  plus  Ham:  and  hence  was  the  father  of  the 
little  Hamlet  ; '  I  find  that  my  head  is  a  magnet,  though 
a  feeble  one:  if  I  put  an  iron  hairpin  gently  on  my 
forehead,  it  sticks,  even  when  I  turn  the  forehead 
downward';  'athletics  is  about  the  most  effectual  form 
of  prayer:  the  answer  hardly  ever  fails';  'a  moral  man 
would  live  two  hundred  years  without  a  hole  in  his 
teeth';  'the  higher  the  animal  the  longer  his  life: 
some  animals  only  live  a  few  seconds;  man  will  be 
living  hundreds  of  years  a  little  later  on';  '"purity  of 
heart"  is  a  hearty  preoccupation  with  hard  fact,  and 
impurity  a  preoccupation  with  soft  delusion :  most  nuns 
and  nurses  are  impure  in  heart,  often  preoccupied  with 
"  the  world,"  though  pure  in  life,  while  the  poor  Magda- 
lens  of  the  streets  are  pure  in  heart,  preoccupied  with 
the  pretty  hard  fact  of  board -and-lodging,  though  im- 
pure in  life';  'I  think,  dear,  that  the  air  which  we 
breathe  is  full  of  sparks  of  life  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost: 
people  lying  dead  are  only  dead  because  they  can't 
breathe  it,  while  most  living  people  about  are  only 
half  alive  because  they  only  half-breathe  it';  'when 
you  have  walked  a  long  way,  and  begin  to  feel  tired, 
give  yourself  a  rest  by  running';  'how  excellent  to  be 
perfect!  how  perfect  to  be  excellent!'  'to  be  happy 
every  morning,  and  to  attain  to  joy  every  afternoon, 
isn't  this  the  whole  duty  of  man  ? '  '  I  am  a  great  one 
for  conscription,  not,  of  course,  the  conscription  which 
teaches  people  to  kill,  but  one  which  would  teach 
athletics;  why  the  Governments  don't  at  least  wash 

[201  j 


The  Lost  Viol 

and  drill  each  of  its  citizens,  male  and  female,  every 
morning,  it  is  hard  to  say:  even  the  horrid  Continental 
conscription  seems  better  than  none  at  all '  —  and  so 
on.  She  sent  Chris  a  Stainer  tenor,  I  don't  know 
where  she  got  the  money  to  buy  it,  and  Chris  promptly 
replied  by  sending  her  —  his  Nicolo.  After  this, '  Dear 
Chris  Wilson '  suddenly  changes  into  '  Beloved,'  and 
'Dear  Viola'  becomes  'Adored'  and  'Darling  Viola.' 
But  all  the  thanks  he  got  for  his  Nicolo  was  an  elabo- 
rate eulogy  of  Mitten wald  at  the  expense  of  Cremona: 
'  There  is  something  so  much  more  Dorian  in  the  mood 
of  a  Stainer  than  in  all  the  Bergonzis,  Storionis,  and 
later  Cremonese,  to  say  nothing  of  the  earlier.  Plato 
would  have  played  a  Stainer,  they  are  so  wide-awake 
and  virtuous,  like  Highland  troops  on  the  march  with 
all  the  flags,  drums,  and  bagpipes  going;  I'd  rather  even 
a  Barak  Norman  or  a  Klotz  than  a  Nicolo,  though 
I  love  my  Nicolo,  since  some  of  your  passion  still 
trembles  in  the  sound-post  ?  Last  week,  however,  I 
came  across  a  grand  pattern  Strad  in  a  bishop's  house, 
and  must  admit  myself  fascinated;  I  cuddled  the 
golden  belly  against  my  cheek;  played  from  'Wal- 
kiire,"  and  "Joy,  O  Joy!"  When  the  finger-tips  just 
brood  over  the  strings,  an  electric  thrill  burns  between, 
as  with  meeting  lips,  and  the  whole  thing  hums  like 
a  dizzy  brain.  I  noticed,  as  you  say,  one  of  the  //'s 
a  thought  lower  than  the  other,  and  now  have  my  own 
theory  as  to  that.'  .  .  .  '  I  find  myself  in  communion  with 
you,'  from  Chris  in  answer,  'in  a  transcendent  way; 

[202] 


The  Lost  Viol 

I  am  but  little  a  mystic,  and  do  not  know  the  ways  of 
the  spirit;  but  you  are  certainly,  as  it  were,  my  wife, 
and  with  me;  just  now,  in  playing  for  my  amusement 
"Du  bist  die  Ruh,"  I  had  an  intimate  sense  of  your 
womanhood  and  of  your  presence,  like  a  vision.  That 
will  be  interesting  to  have  you  accompany  me  on  the 
piano:  I  am  curious  to  know  what  will  be  the  emotional 
outcome.  I  have  a  notion  that  still  higher  achieve- 
ments in  sensation  will  be  mine  when  you  are  at  my 
side.  But  how  long  ?  I  invite  you  to  be  good  to  our 
youth.'  'It  won't  be  long  now,'  is  her  answer,  'it 
would  have  been  sooner,  if  so  many  ties  didn't  bind 
me  here ;  I  am  like  Gulliver  bound  —  the  threads  can 
be  snapped,  but  then  the  little  ones  would  be  hurt. 
Others,  however,  are  being  prepared  to  fill  my  place, 
and  very  soon  I  shall  leave  all  to  follow  you.  .  .  .  You 
are  my  business  in  life  and  one  thing  needful.  .  .  .  Some 
women  in  my  place  would  have  a  blue  fright  that  you 
would  unlove  them  at  first  sight:  not  I.  I  shan't 
breathe  any  the  quicker  when  we  meet,  but  shall  come 
carelessly  into  my  own  somehow,  like  blind  kittens 
born  into  they  don't  quite  know  what  age  or  nook  of 
the  universe,  but  understanding  that  it  is  into  their 
proper  planet,  to  their  own  mother,  and  that  they 
have  a  right  to  make  a  noise,  and  be  kittenish  ...  In 
my  hand  no  price  I  shall  bring,  what  I  bring  will  be 
priceless,  and  brought  not  in  the  way  of  purchase- 
money,  but  as  free  gift;  and  in  my  face  you  will  see 
the  eyes  of  a  friend :  for  no  less  than  this,  I  believe,  will 

[203] 


The  Lost  Viol 

be  my  pride  when  I  shall  come  to  review  my  life,  that 
I,  though  a  woman,  was  capable  of  friendship.  "The 
ordinary  sufficiency  of  women,"  says  old  Florio,  "  can- 
not answer  this  conference,  the  nurse  of  this  sacred 
bond,  nor  seem  their  minds  strong  enough  to  endure 
the  pulling  of  a  knot  so  hard,  so  fast,  and  durable, 
and  this  sex  could  never  yet  by  any  example  attain 
unto  it";  and  he  says:  "So  many  parts  are  required  to 
the  erecting  of  such  a  friendship,  that  it  may  be  ac- 
counted a  wonder  if  fortune  once  in  three  ages  contract 
the  like.  It  is  a  great  and  strange  wonder,  for  a  man 
to  double  himself,  their  mutual  agreement  being  no 
other  than  one  soul  in  two  bodies,  according  to  the 
definition  of  Aristotle;  they  can  neither  lend  nor  give 
out  to  each  other;  and  each  doth  as  wholly  give  himself 
unto  his  friend,  that  he  hath  nothing  left  him  to  divide 
elsewhere,  and  is  grieved  that  he  is  not  double,  and 
hath  not  many  souls,  that  he  might  confer  them  all 
upon  this  object."  As  for  Viola,  when  she  had  only 
heard  your  name,  before  ever  she  had  seen  you,  her 
heart  quickened  with  friendliness,  and  was  qualmish 
and  fain  for  the  altar  of  sacrifice.  You  speak  of  me 
as  your  "wife"?  Truly,  I  am  that:  but  if  I  were  no 
nearer  you,  you  should  never  see  Viola.' 

"It  is  a  mercy,"  continues  Kathleen,  "that  I  didn't 
tell  Chris  who  'Viola'  is,  for  a  sentence  in  one  of  his 
letters  to  her  has  become  an  awful  temptation  to  me. 
He  says:  'That  will  be  interesting  to  have  you  accom- 
pany me  on  the  piano';  he  feels  that  'Viola'  will  do  it 

[204] 


The  Lost  Viol 

well,  but  he  already  knows  that  /  do,  and  there  is  no  rea- 
son why  he  shouldn't  be  made  to  think  that  /  am'  Viola.' 
Only,  my  heart  beats  too  madly  at  the  mere  thought:  I 
could  never  do  it  for  that  reason  alone.  But  since  he 
knows  my  handwriting,  I  could  hint  that  I  naturally  got 
some  one  to  copy  the  letters  out  for  me.  I  should  come 
in  for  some  at  least  of  Viola's  spoils.  All  is  fair  in  love, 
in  war,  and  in  everything.  Not  that  it  is  pretty :  but  to 
be  rich  one  must  steal ;  all  rich  men  are  thieves,  and  all 
poor  ones  are  would-be  thieves.  We  are  as  alike  as  peas, 
the  whole  mass  of  pudding.  Honesty  is  only  a  form  of 
snobbishness,  a  means  of  looking  down  in  turn  upon 
one's  richer  neighbors  who  look  down  upon  one.  Still, 
one  goes  horrid,  really,  if  one  does  such  things,  one  gets 
worse  and  weaker,  till  some  day  one  does  something  in- 
effably outrageous.  I  hope  I  am  not  going  to  do  this 
thing.  And  could  I  ?  It  would  be  horribly  dangerous 
for  many,  many  reasons !  Hannah  will  soon  be  coming 
to  Chris  with  his  child's  hand  in  hers;  if  the  child  is  at 
all  like  him,  she  won't  need  the  proofs  buried  in  St. 
Peter's  churchyard;  even  if  the  child  is  not  like,  Chris 
won't  doubt  her  word  when  she  has  once  explained  her 
motive  for  marrying  Willie  Dawe.  But  mightn't  I  poison 
Chris's  mind  against  her  in  advance  by  making  Willie 
Dawe  tell  Chris  that  the  child  is  his,  Willie's  ?  Many 
things  occur  to  me  now,  many;  my  head  is  rank  with 
fraud;  and  something  is  going  to  come  of  it,  for  they 
haven't  any  right  to  tempt  me,  and  make  me  mad. 
"Chris  will  be  in  England  within  a  month,"  etc.,  etc. 

[205] 


CHAPTER  XX 

It  was,  indeed,  just  a  month  after  this  that  the 
little  maid  drove  one  night  from  the  Savoy  Hotel, 
where  she  was  staying,  to  Gray's  Inn  with  a  young 
man  beside  her,  to  whom  she  said  on  the  way,  "  Well, 
you  are  looking  quite  smart  and  prosperous:  have  you 
a  house  of  your  own  now  ?  " 

'Thank  you,  miss,  I've  taken  the  house  in  Camden 
Town,"  said  Willie  Dawe,  a  lank  fellow,  with  a  loose 
mouth. 

"And  I  suppose  you  are  not  so  foolish  as  to  do  any 
work  now?" 

'Thank  you,  no,  miss;  I'm  taking  it  easy  just  for 
the  present,  thanks  to  you." 

"  Having  a  good  time  ?  " 

"Thank  you,  miss,  pretty  fair,  thank  you." 

"Well,  you  are  a  lucky  fellow:  it  is  only  because  I 
have  known  your  mother  so  long  on  the  estate.  That's 
why.  If  I  were  you,  I  should  thoroughly  enjoy  myself 
while  I  could,  for  suppose  I  were  to  die  or  anything, 
what  would  become  of  you  ?  You  could  nevergobackto 
the  old  workaday  life,  after  tasting  ease  and  pleasure." 

'Thank  you  kindly,  miss,  thank  you,"  said  Willie 
Dawe. 

[207] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"But  you  could  have  been  twice  as  well  off,  if  you 
had  followed  my  hints:  for  she  would  have  been  con- 
pelled  to  give  you  as  much  as  you  chose  to  ask  for." 

"Thank  you,  miss,  I  didn't  quite  like  to  do  that, 
miss,"  said  Willie  Dawe  with  a  blush. 

"  I  don't  see  why  not." 

"I  don't  fancy  she  has  so  over-much  for  herself, 
miss,  begging  your  pardon." 

"  Her  father  is  a  large  farmer,  with  plenty  of  money 
laid  by.     But  you  are  fond  of  her,  Willie." 

"I,  miss  ?  fond  of  her!     Not  me,  I'll  swear." 

"You  are.  You  like  her  better  than  me  for  saving 
you  that  time  from  the  sea." 

"No,  miss,  no,  I  tell  you;  don't  talk  of  that,  miss, 
please,  begging  your  pardon." 

"She  only  did  it  to  show  off  her  physical  powers. 
She  cared  nothing  about  you." 

"No,  miss,  thank  you." 

"Have  you  never  once  seen  her  since  I  came  across 
you  ?     Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"Miss  Hannah,  miss?     Not  I,  miss!" 

"  I  have  told  you  not  to  call  her  '  Miss  Hannah ' :  say 
'my  wife';  it  is  only  the  truth:  you  married  her;  she  is 
your  wife,  and  the  mother  of  your  child." 

"Well,  miss,  since  you  say  so." 

"  Didn't  you  admit  as  much  to  me  yesterday  ?  " 

"I  did,  yes,  miss,  in  a  way,  thank  you." 

"Well,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  repeat  the  same  tale 
to  the  gentleman.     Don't  be  abject  before  him,  he 

[208] 


The  Lost  Viol 

can't  bite  you.  Just  show  the  certificate,  say  all  that 
I  have  suggested,  and  claim  your  rights  as  a  father  and 
husband.  By  the  way,  I  have  thought  that  you  would 
like  to  see  Paris,  and  am  giving  you  an  extra  thirty 
pounds  to-night:  Paris  is  an  awfully  gay  place.  Oh, 
here  we  are." 

The  carriage  drew  up  in  Gray's  Inn,  where  Chris 
Wilson  still  stuck  to  his  old  chambers.  Kathleen  and 
her  companion,  both  of  them  pale  and  trembling,  went 
up,  were  let  in  by  Grimani,  and  went  into  the  room 
where  Chris  was;  Chris  was  half  a  minute  before  he 
could  tear  himself  from  his  desk,  then  leapt  up  and 
rushed,  with  a  murmur  of  "  My  own  dear  friend,"  to 
Kathleen's  hand. 

"  Is  that  a  letter  to  '  Viola,'  Chris  ?  "  asked  Kathleen, 
showing  her  pretty  teeth  in  a  nervous  laugh;  "you 
were  so  deep  in  it  — " 

He  gave  some  little  nods,  meaning  "yes." 

"  This  is  the  young  man  whom  you  are  expecting,  if 
you  haven't  forgotten  my  letter,"  said  Kathleen.  "I 
am  afraid  he  has  a  grievance  against  you,  and  has 
brought  it  all  to  me.  I  have  known  him  since  I  was  a 
child;  he  is  one  of  your  own  Orrock  subjects,  so  I  felt 
bound  to  be  interested." 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  asked  Chris  meekly. 

"  You  know  that  this  is  the  —  husband  —  of  some 
one?" 

"  So  you  wrote  to  say." 

"  Well,  some  busybody  has  been  filling  him  with  the 

[  200  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 
notion   that  you   intend   to   claim   the   child   as  your 


own." 


"I  didn't  know  that  you  had  a  child,  my  friend," 
said  Chris  gently  to  Willie  Dawe. 

"  Now,  Willie  Dawe,  are  you  satisfied  ? "  asked 
Kathleen.  "I  told  you  that  Sir  Chris  probably  knew 
nothing  whatever  of  the  matter." 

There  was  silence. 

"  What  made  her  have  him  ? "  asked  Chris,  more 
with  his  eyes  than  his  lips. 

'"Tell  Sir  Chris  everything,"  said  Kathleen. 

"I  and  my  wife  grew  up  neck  and  neck  together 
down  at  Orrock,  sir,  begging  your  pardon,"  said  Willie 
Dawe,  trying  to  remember  Avhat  he  had  been  told  to  say. 

"But  it  is  an  incredible  thing!"  said  Chris,  his  arms 
akimbo,  looking  down  with  disgust  at  Dawe,  who  was 
sitting  at  the  last  edge  of  a  chair. 

"Show  Sir  Chris  the  copy  of  the  certificate,"  said 
Kathleen. 

"But  have  I  not  already  seen  one?"  asked  Chris: 
"spare  yourself  the  pains,  my  friend." 

"The  affair  took  place  at  the  Clerkenwell  Town 
hall,  sir,"  said  Dawe,  his  eye-corners  ever  wandering 
round  to  where  Kathleen  sat. 

"Let  it  be  so,"  answered  Chris:  "I  don't  at  all  ques- 
tion the  formality  of  your  proceedings.  One  only 
hopes  that  you  never  play  at  cards,  for  certainly  you 
are  most  lucky  in  love.     Have  you  only  one  child  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

[210] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"A  boy?  a  girl?" 

Dawe  did  not  know!  His  eyes  swam  round  to 
Kathleen. 

"A  boy,"  said  Kathleen  quickly  at  a  venture, 
flushing.     * 

"  How  old  ?  "  asked  Chris. 

"About  —  four  years,  sir." 

"  But  don't  be  agitated.  I  have  no  thought  of  taking 
your  little  one  from  you;  it  is  true  that  I  once  went 
through  the  marriage  ceremony  with  your  wife,  but 
we  parted  the  same  evening,  and  I  have  never  seen 
her  since.  Her  son  can't  be  mine.  I  don't  know  why 
you  are  agitated." 

"  It  isn't  that,  sir,  it  isn't  that,  begging  your  pardon," 
said  the  unfortunate  Willie. 

'  Why  did  she  marry  you,  my  friend  ?  "  asked  Chris. 

"My  wife  and  I  grew  up  neck  and  neck  together, 
sir,"  repeated  Willie,  with  an  eye  on  Kathleen. 

"And  still  you  are  neck  and  neck  under  the  same 
yoke.  That  is  idyllic!  though  in  the  books  of  Moses 
it  is  forbidden  to  yoke  the  ox  and  the  ass  together. 
But  did  you  dare  to  marry  her,  knowing  that  her  first 
husband  was  alive  ?  or  did  you  believe  that  he  was 
dead?" 

"She  told  me  — " 

"Well?" 

"That  you  were  dead,  sir." 

"She?" 

'Yes,  sir,  and  that  she  —  wor  —  glad  of  it." 

[211] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"But  the  fellow  is  a  traitor  and  a  liar,"  muttered 
Chris  with  a  flushed  forehead.  "  Go  away  now,  go,  go," 
and  he  brushed  Willie  Dawe  away  with  motions  of  his 
hands,  following  and  brushing  him  out. 

When  he  returned  Kathleen  was  alone,  with  him, 
except  for  Grimani  in  another  room,  but  the  little 
maid  showed  no  haste  to  go  away,  as  would  have  been 
only  proper.     It  was  after  eleven  in  the  night. 

"  I  hope  you  did  not  want  him  to  stay  for  any  reason, 
Kathleen,"  said  Chris;  "he  became  intolerable." 

"It  is  all  right,"  said  Kathleen.  "I  thought  it 
would  be  a  curiosity  to  you  to  see  him,  so  brought 
him." 

"But  I  am  grieved  to  the  heart!  How  is  one  to 
explain  to  oneself  this  grotesque  and  beastly  marriage, 
like  Briinnhilda  marrying  Ghunter  of  her  own  accord  ? 
It  can't  be  the  same  Hannah  Wilson  whose  pure  eyes 
I  knew  —  For  that  matter,  '  Hannah  Wilson '  is  a 
common  name  in  England:  why  may  not  this  man's 
wife  be  another  Hannah  Wilson  ?  " 

"No,  Chris,"  said  Kathleen,  "don't  let  us  delude 
ourselves  with  any  such  hope:  it  is  the  same  Hannah. 
Even  Lucifer  went  wrong,  and  Hannah  has  gone  so 
very  far  wrong,  that  even  her  parents  and  I  are  not 
permitted  to  know  her  true  address." 

"  Can  all  this  be  my  fault  ?  "  asked  Chris  with  opened 
arms. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  was  a  mere  boy  then,"  Chris  muttered.     "The 

[212] 


The  Lost  Viol 

good   people   should   not  have   caused   me   to  marry. 
God  grant  that  it  is  in  no  way  my  fault." 

"  Oh,  Chris,  how  can  it  be  your  fault  ?  People  go 
their  own  way  and  nothing  can  stop  them.  And  per- 
haps she  is  as  happy  in  her  sty  as  you  in  your  heaven. 
Well,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  now,  and  leave  you  to 
your  '  Viola.'  I  dare  say  in  your  heart  you  are  wishing 
me  to  the  dickens." 

"  Mmm,  my  own  friend,"  groaned  Chris.  "  Grimani! 
—  let  me  offer  you  a  glass  — " 

"No,  thanks,  no  wine:  it  is  all  right,  Grimani. 
Continue  your  letter  to  darling  Viola.  Can  I  have  a 
peep,  I  wonder,  at  this  last  one  ?  " 

Chris  shook  his  curls,  with  a  smile. 

"I  shall  see  it  all  the  same,"  said  Kathleen  suddenly: 
for  though  she  had  finally  made  up  her  mind  not  to 
pass  herself  off  as  "Viola,"  the  little  maid  now  on  a 
sudden  yielded  to  the  temptation,  blind  to  all  the 
hundred  risks  and  difficulties  of  to-morrow,  her  mind 
in  the  presence  of  Chris  was  always  in  such  a  state  of 
flurry  and  weakness. 

"  How  will  you  '  sec  it  all  the  same  ? ' ;"  asked  Chris. 

"Never  mind,  I  will,"  answered  Kathleen,  looking 
up  at  him  with  a  pale  smile. 

"  Hut  I  don't  mean  to  keep  any  copy,"  said  Chris. 

"I  shall  still  see  it." 

Chris  looked  at  her,  and  said  eagerly: 

"Kathleen!  do  you  know  Viola?" 

Kathleen  smiled  mysteriously,  without  answering. 

[2V3] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Do  you  know  her?     Tell  me,  my  friend!" 

"I  know  her  very  well;  and  so  do  you." 

"  I  have  seen  her  ?  " 

"Oh,  Chris,  how  unconscious  you  are!  She  is 
nearer,  much  nearer  to  you  at  this  moment  than  you 
dream;  the  girl  who  is  nearest  to  you,  now  and  always, 
is  she." 

At  these  words  Chris  stood  in  pain:  her  meaning 
seemed  plain;  he  was  not  given  to  doubting  the  words 
of  women;  and  all  at  once  he  saw  melting  that  whole 
cloud-cuckoo- town  which  the  word  "Viola"  meant  to 
his  fancy.  He  could  not  speak,  but  stood  looking  at 
Kathleen  in  a  pathetic  way. 

"Chris,  are  you  sorry?"  she  asked,  standing  up, 
putting  her  poor  trembling  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"No,"  answered  Chris:  "are  you  Viola?" 

"I  hoped  in  that  way  to  show  you  —  to  win  you," 
said  Kathleen  with  pan  tings  and  passion,  "and  I  have 
succeeded;  if  you  don't  take  me  now,  the  reason  will 
be  clear,  you  will  insult  me,  you  will  be  a  brute  without 
pity.  I  have  not  loved  you  as  a  man,  but  as  a  god 
above  all  Gods,  for  years  and  years;  have  pity  — " 

"  Kathleen  —  my  dear  friend  —  " 

"For  years  and  years,  mind  you,  Chris!  I  have 
dragged  my  soul  through  ignominy  after  you!  Re- 
member that!  But  I  will  be  a  slave  no  longer;  to-night 
—  this  very  night  —  " 

At  this  she  fastened  her  lips  to  his;  he,  somehow, 
wished  to  get  free:  and  at  his  effort,  the  little  maid 

[214] 


The  Lost  Viol 

threw  back  her  head,  and  piled  scream  on  scream. 
Grimani  ran  in  and  bore  her  to  a  sofa,  where  she 
continued  to  utter  screams  and  sobs  and  laughter, 
while  Chris  darted  about  in  a  flurry,  seeking  he  knew 
not  what.  They  had  only  liqueurs  to  give  her,  her  furs 
and  hat  were  taken  off,  her  forehead  sprinkled  with 
water,  and  a  doctor  sent  for;  but  before  he  could  come 
she  had  got  somewhat  better,  and  while  still  in  shameful 
agitation  insisted  upon  being  taken  to  her  carriage. 
Chris  parted  from  her  with  the  words:  "I  will  write  to 
you." 

When  he  went  up  again,  he  stood  for  a  long  time 
with  his  forehead  resting  on  the  mantelpiece;  then, 
noticing  the  letter  which  he  had  been  writing  to  "  Viola," 
tore  it  slowly  into  two  pieces,  which  he  threw  upon  the 
fire;  then  sat  and  wrote  to  Kathleen. 

At  that  same  hour  Hannah's  other  husband,  Willie 
Dawe,  was  lurking  in  Guilford  Street  at  a  corner  of 
the  Foundling  wall,  hugging  himself  for  cold,  but 
watching  without  a  movement  a  certain  window  which 
he  oftentimes  liked  to  come  and  watch.  It  was  now 
after  one  o'clock,  some  snow  was  falling,  the  night 
murky,  and  no  one  to  be  seen,  save  a  policeman,  whose 
tread  came  and  went  like  ehcoes  in  desolate  Balclutha. 

A  faint  light  was  in  that  second  floor  window  which 
Daw  watched.  Behind  it  lay  Hannah,  sleeping,  but 
hardly  undressed,  with  a  sick  girl-child  of  the  lowest 
class  asleep  on  her  arm.  For  some  time  nothing  hap- 
pened:  Dawe   shivered    and    watched,    Hannah   slept, 

[215] 


The  Lost  Viol 

the  policeman  strolled;  but  soon  after  the  Foundling 
clock  struck  two  a  poor  woman  came  hurrying  south- 
ward, passed  by  Dawe,  went  to  the  house  of  the  lighted 
window,  and  rang  a  bell  which  was  so  strung  as  to 
ring  in  Hannah's  room.  At  its  first  tinkle,  Hannah 
was  awake  and  up,  settled  the  sick  child  comfortably, 
had  on  her  boots  in  a  jiffy,  cast  a  glance  at  her  little 
son  in  his  cot,  caught  up  a  stethoscope,  and  ran  down 
the  stair,  still  dressing  herself  in  her  flight.  Dawe 
guessed  that  the  bell  rung  was  hers,  that  she  would 
presently  appear  in  the  street,  and  ran  to  hide  himself: 
but  he  had  hardly  time  to  do  this  when  she  was  down 
and  hurrying  northward  into  Brunswick  Square  with 
the  poor  woman.  He  followed  some  way,  peering 
after  her  through  the  murk  and  snowfall,  and  presently 
saw  that  she  had  left  the  woman  behind,  and  was 
running  forward  alone.  Swift  and  happy  feet,  running 
to  do  well. 


[216] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

The  kind  of  night  which  the  little  maid  passed  after 
that  scene  with  Chris  may  be  guessed.  She  saw,  for 
one  thing,  that  she  had  put  herself  into  a  fine  fix  in 
pretending  to  be  "  Viola,"  since  the  real  "  Viola  "  would 
soon  be  writing  again  to  Chris,  without  saying  a  word 
about  the  scene!  Miss  Olivia  and  a  maid  watched 
through  the  night  by  her  bed,  each  holding  one  of  her 
quaking  arms. 

And  the  morning's  post  only  made  things  worse! 
Chris  wrote,  blaming  himself  for  what  had  passed, 
and  inviting  himself  to  Kathleen's  suite  at  the  hotel 
on  the  second  evening  thence,  "  in  order  that  my  dear 
friend  Kathleen  and  I  may  better  understand  each 
other."  "  Never  shall  I  cease  to  remember  '  Viola,' " 
he  wrote,  "nor  all  the  fresh  flowers  which  you  have 
sent  me  during  two  years  in  your  charming  letters." 
All  this  was  well  enough,  but  in  a  postscript  he  added: 
"  Shall  we  not  have  some  music  ?  My  Bergonzi  and 
your  Nicolo  will  make  our  evening  complete." 

He  meant  the  Nicolo  which  he  had  presented  to 

'Viola"!  innocently  meant  it,  but  the  little  maid  at 

once  had  the  guilty  feeling  that  he  did  it  in  order  to 

test  whether  she  was  really  "  Viola  " !  and  she  was  now, 

[217] 


The  Lost  Viol 

as  it  were,  in  fire.  To  tell  Chris  that  she  had  not  the 
Nicolo  with  her  would,  she  felt,  be  most  lame;  nor  are 
Nicolos  to  be  got  like  hairpins;  even  if  she  could  buy 
one,  Chris  would  know  it  from  his  own  at  first  sight, 
at  the  first  note.  She  felt  that  she  would  gladly  part 
with  all  things  in  life  to  have  "  Viola's  "  Nicolo  for  two 
days. 

Her  first  thought  was  to  hasten  to  Hannah,  and, 
somehow,  to  get  the  Nicolo;  but  she  did  not  know 
where  Hannah  lived. 

She  had  often  asked  Willie  Dawe  for  Hannah's 
address,  but  Dawe  had  protested  that  he  did  not 
know  it.  That,  however,  was  her  only  hope  now, 
that  Dawe  had  told  a  falsehood  in  some  wish  to  keep 
Hannah's  secret.  And  by  eleven  the  brave  girl  had 
overcome  her  breakdown,  and  had  had  Dawe  brought 
to  her. 

"I  don't  know  where  Miss  Hannah  is,  miss," 
answered  Dawe  many  times. 

"Well,  it  is  a  pity  for  you,"  Kathleen  answered, 
"for  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  give  you  nothing 
more  unless  you  can  find  out  for  me  before  mid-day." 

Beads  of  sweat  stood  on  Dawe's  forehead ;  after  some 
time  he  said  that  he  knew  where  Miss  Hannah  used  to 
live  — 

"That  will  do,"  said  Kathleen;  and  Dawe  then  gave 
Hannah's  address. 

So  by  two  in  the  afternoon  Miss  Olivia  was  at  Han- 
nah's door,   Kathleen  waiting  in  her  carriage  round 

[  218  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

the  corner  of  Guilford  Place.  But  "Mrs.  Wilson" 
was  not  in. 

"  When  will  she  be  in  ? "  asked  Miss  Olivia. 

"  Ah,  now  you  are  asking  something  puzzling,"  said 
Mrs.  Reid,  the  landlady. 

"  I  will  call  back  about  four." 

"  What  name  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"Well,  perhaps  I  should  prefer  to  surprise  her:  we 
are  friends." 

Miss  Olivia  came  back  to  see  Hannah  three  times 
that  day  before  nine  p.  m.,  but  always  in  vain. 

By  that  hour  Kathleen  was  in  a  high-wrought  state, 
and  had  to  be  put  to  bed.  But  when  it  was  near 
midnight,  nothing  would  satisfy  her  but  she  must  get 
up,  and  go  to  see  if  Hannah  was  in.  Miss  Olivia  was 
asleep  after  her  sleepless  last  night;  and  the  little  maid 
dressed  and  went  out  in  a  kind  of  stealth. 

At  Hannah's  door  she  alighted  from  her  cab.  But 
her  heart  failed  her  when  her  hand  was  on  the  knocker. 
What  should  she  say  to  Hannah?  How  explain  her 
knowledge  of  Hannah's  address?  Hannah  would 
think  her  wondrously  eager  to  have  the  Nicolo,  spring- 
ing up  at  that  hour  of  the  night  to  borrow  it!  Would 
Hannah  lend  the  precious  gift?  All  these  painful 
questions  passed  through  the  little  head.  There  she 
stood,  with  a  cowering  heart,  unable  to  knock,  unable 
to  go  away.  The  door  was  a  little  open,  as  often  in 
that  kind  of  Bloomsbury  caravansary,  and  she  was 
peeping  in  when  the  sight  of  a  man  coming  in  the 

[219] 


The  Lost  Viol 

passage  sent  her  skedaddling.  He  came  out,  slammed 
the  door,  and  went  his  way.  Kathleen  now  stood  on 
the  further  side  of  the  street  under  the  Foundling  wall, 
and  thence  watched  the  house.  A  light  was  in  a 
window  of  the  second  floor,  on  which,  as  Dawe  had 
told  her,  Hannah's  rooms  were,  and  her  heart  stopped 
to  see  on  the  blind  a  shadow  like  Hannah's:  it  was 
gone  in  a  moment,  came  again,  and  was  gone,  flitting 
actively  about.  The  quaint  maid's  soul  was  thrown 
forth  of  herself  upon  that  window,  as  when  on  Hannah's 
wedding  night  she  had  watched  the  bride's  windows  at 
Orrock.  For  a  minute  or  two  the  shadow  was  no  more 
seen :  then  Kathleen  was  aware  of  Hannah  herself  down 
at  the  front  door.  Hannah  came  out,  slammed  the 
door  behind  her,  and  started  northward  into  Bruns- 
wick Square,  her  face  bent  down,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  almost  running;  her  nurse's 
uniform  could  be  heard  brabbling  in  the  north  wind; 
she  hardly  left  Kathleen  time  to  run  to  hide  under  the 
tree-shaded  west  wall  of  the  Foundling,  when,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street,  she  hastened  past  into  the  square. 
Kathleen  had  come  to  see  her,  and  there  she  was,  quite 
near,  but  the  little  maid  dared  not  speak  to  her. 

Hannah  gone,  the  little  maid  went  back  a  few  yards 
to  her  former  stand,  and  again  watched  the  window. 
Though  robed  in  layers  of  fur  to  her  feet,  she  began  to 
suffer  from  cold,  for  those  were  frosty  days,  the  pave- 
ments were  caked  in  snow  and  ice,  and  a  half-moon  in 
the  clear  sky  looked  like  a  traveler  lost  in  a  cold  waste. 

[220] 


The  Lost  Viol 

But  still  Kathleen  stood  where  she  was,  doubly  fasci- 
nated by  the  window  now  that  Hannah  was  gone.  Her 
eyes  wandered  between  it  and  the  front  door.  The 
door  was  now  fastened,  but  it  was  not  long  before  a  girl 
came  out  with  a  jug,  and  ran  to  a  near  beer- house  — 
in  haste,  for  it  was  just  when  the  beer-houses  are  shut 
up;  she  left  the  front  door  open,  and  Kathleen  ran  to  it. 

The  trouble  of  her  heart  was  great,  for  whichever 
way  things  might  go,  she  foresaw  shame:  if  she  took 
the  Nicolo  from  Hannah's  room,  the  real  'Viola" 
might  write  to  tell  Chris  of  its  loss!  But  her  keenest 
care  was  the  meeting  with  Chris  on  the  coming  evening, 
and  leaving  the  further  future  to  take  care  of  itself, 
she  hastened  in.  The  passage  was  lit,  but  the  stairs 
in  darkness,  save  for  a  tin  lamp  on  a  window-ledge 
over  the  first  landing.  She  met  no  one.  On  the 
second  landing  were  two  front  rooms:  that  on  the  left 
was  the  lighted  one;  in  the  other,  a  smaller  one,  Han- 
nah's nurse-girl  slept.  Kathleen  tapped  at  the  door 
on  the  left;  there  was  no  answer;  she  went  in,  and 
closed  the  door  behind  her  without  making  a  sound. 

Her  next  task  was  to  get  her  breath:  the  little  mass 
of  furs  stood  swelling  and  sinking,  amazed  to  find 
itself  there.  Round  she  cast  her  eyes:  the  bed  was 
rumpled,  the  gas  turned  down,  a  fire  burning,  and 
there  on  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire  lay  the  pampered 
Nicolo,  a  soft  silk  handkerchief  covering  the  strings. 
But  the  little  maid's  eyes  were  fixed  on  quite  another 
sight  now  than  the  Nicolo  —  on  Hannah's  little  boy 

[221] 


The  Lost  Viol 

asleep  with  flushed  cheeks.  He  had  golden  hair, 
fairer  than  both  his  father  and  his  mother.  "He 
looked  like  a  faint  water-color  of  an  angel,"  Kathleen 
wrote  of  him  long  afterwards:  "I  didn't  know  before 
that  flesh  could  be  so  ravishingly  lovely;  yet  the  image 
of  Chris."  She  stood  a  strangely  long  time,  staring  at 
the  child  in  its  cot,  forgetting  the  Nicolo;  and  her  face 
took  on  a  look  truly  elfin,  wannish,  as  it  were  of  Me- 
phisto  or  of  Erl-king  with  sword  and  crown,  one  of  her 
eyebrows  pitched  up  beyond  the  other.  Strange  temp- 
tations, forecastings,  wrought  in  her  quick  mind  then, 
yet,  as  it  were,  in  a  dream,  and  all  that  she  went  on  to 
do  was  in  sleep-walking;  for  by  living  waywardly  a 
long  while  the  little  maid  seems  to  have  reared  up  now 
within  herself  a  second  creature  which  in  high  moments 
arose,  pushed  her  aside,  and  acted  instead  of  her. 

There  was  no  fear  of  not  being  able  to  get  the  child 
down  to  the  door  without  being  seen:  that  could  be 
done;  the  danger  lay  in  his  awaking  on  the  way,  and 
screaming!  In  the  end,  she  turned  the  gas  very  low, 
threw  her  muff  on  the  fire,  took  off  her  fur  cloak,  and 
with  endless  cares  got  it  under  the  child;  his  clothes 
lay  folded  on  a  chair;  she  put  them  on  his  breast,  his 
boots  and  socks  into  her  pockets;  on  his  clothes  she 
laid  the  Nicolo  with  its  slackened  bow;  and  wrapping 
all  in  the  fur,  got  the  bundle  in  her  arms.  It  was  no 
slight  burden  for  her,  the  child  being  nearly  four  years 
old!  But  that  second  Frankenstein-self  which  was 
doing  all  for  her  was  strong,  and,  in  spite  of  stoppages 

[222] 


The  Lost  Viol 

on  the  stairs,  the  child  was  hardly  shaken.  But  it 
was  a  journey !  She  seemed  to  be  bearing  a  horse  — 
with  the  eyes  of  multitudes  upon  her  —  during  an  age. 
But  she  met  no  one.  Down  in  the  hall  she  had  to  put 
down  the  burden  on  a  table,  run  to  open  the  door,  and 
run  back  for  the  bundle  —  all  in  bright  gaslight.  But, 
like  the  defaulting  lodgers  who  steal  out  trunks  from 
such  like  places,  she  got  out  safely. 

She  hobbled  toward  Russell  Square,  and  there  was 
another  waiting  for  a  cab  —  another  age  in  which  she 
grew  old.  She  met  four  people,  but  they  took  no 
notice  of  her  bundle,  the  child  was  so  hidden  in  the 
fur.  When  at  last  she  was  putting  him  into  a  cab, 
the  little  boy  awoke,  stared  at  her  strange  face,  and 
began  to  cry.     But  all  was  well  then. 

She  told  her  driver  to  drive  to  Hampstead,  and 
thence  drove  back  southward  to  the  Hotel  Metropole, 
by  which  time  the  child  was  weary  of  crying,  and 
dressed.  She  took  a  suite  of  rooms;  wrote  to  Miss 
Olivia  at  the  Savoy  Hotel  that  she  would  be  away 
most  of  the  next  day;  and  lay  all  night  with  her  boy 
in  her  arms. 

Her  first  care  the  next  morning  was  to  get  other 
clothes  for  him,  to  burn  his  former  ones,  to  hire  two 
good  nurses;  and  she  spent  the  day  in  bribing  her  boy 
to  love  her,  till  it  was  nearly  time  to  go  to  meet  Chris 
at  her  suite  in  the  Savoy  Hotel,  when  she  set  out  with 
the  Nicolo  in  a  new  case,  leaving  her  boy  with  his 
new  nurses.  .  .  . 

[223] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"Don't  let  us  try  to  talk  here,  Chris,"  said  the 
little  maid  that  night  in  her  Savoy  Hotel  salon;  "  there 
is  something  to  be  said  between  you  and  me,  but  it 
can't  be  said  in  this  garish  place,  with  five  of  my 
enemies  amiably  bivouacked  about  us.  If  you  can 
make  time  for  me  to-morrow  evening  before  dinner, 
I  shall  come  to  you." 

"I  am  in  your  hands,"  said  Chris.  "I  shall  try  to 
be  disengaged,  but  perhaps  — " 

"  Oh,  there  is  nothing  outre  in  my  going  now  to  your 
place  alone,  and  you  have  no  fresh  scene  to  dread 
from  me.  Our  meeting  will  be  too  serious  for  that. 
In  a  wild  moment  I  let  out  before  the  time  who  wrote 
the  'Viola'  letters,  but  to-morrow  I  shall  come  more 
seriously  to  you  as  'Viola,'  bringing  with  me  the 
precious  gift  which  'Viola'  promised." 

"My  own  friend,"  answered  Chris  with  compunc- 
tion, "it  is  I  who  should  be  bringing  you  precious 
gifts  for  your  goodness  — " 

"No,  I;  but  we  won't  talk  of  it  now:  let's  play  the 
Prometheus  now,  as  you  promised.     Come,  Olivia." 

With  the  Bergonzi  and  the  Nicolo  they  played  a 
two-fiddle  overture,  the  maestro  saying  afterwards  to 

[225] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Kathleen,  "Your  virtuosity  is  no  less  refined  on  the 
violin  than  on  the  piano";  he  was  eager  to  please  her, 
for  the  fact  of  her  quaint  body  and  of  her  hopeless 
passion  touched  his  heart;  but  the  interview  of  the 
coming  evening  was  most  irksome  to  him  beforehand, 
though  his  curiosity  was  stirred  at  the  wonderful  gift 
to  be  given  him.  However,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
go  through  it  with  a  good  grace,  and  then,  his  London 
concerts  being  over,  to  fly  from  the  quaint  maid  and 
from  England. 

But  when  Kathleen  appeared  before  him  at  six  the 
next  evening,  Chris  uttered  a  cry  and  rushed  with  a 
murmur  to  embrace  the  boy  whom  she  led  by  the  hand, 
the  boy  was  such  a  pretty  picture  in  his  sailor  dress. 

"  Have  I  seen  him  before,  Kathleen  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No." 

"How  delicious  a  being!  How  dainty  a  traumbild 
of  color!  This  is  Eros  himself,  and  his  mother's  limbs 
could  have  sprung  only  from  the  sea-foam:  cluck, 
cluck,  kiss  me." 

Chris  sat  on  a  sofa  with  the  sulky  boy  on  his  knee, 
while  Kathleen,  sitting  near  in  an  armchair,  said  to 
her  boy,  "  Tell  us  your  name,  will  you  ?  " 

The  answer  "  Chris  "  was  got  out  of  him  after  some 
coaxing. 

"Chris!"  cried  out  Chris  the  elder. 

"  And  whom  are  you  like,  Chris  ?  "  asked  Kathleen : 
"  like  this  gentleman  ?  " 

The  boy  did  not  answer;  Chris  looked  into  his  face 

[226] 


The  Lost  Viol 

with  growing  astonishment,  for  the  likeness  was  indeed 
striking;  then  looked  from  the  boy  to  Kathleen. 

'This  is  the  present  which  'Viola'  promised  to 
bring  in  her  hand,  Chris,"  said  Kathleen,  "and  now 
she  has  brought  it.  Is  it  truly  priceless?  Are  you 
fully  satisfied  ?  " 

"A  present!     May  I  have  the  boy?" 

"Yes,  if  you  have  the  heart  to  take  him  from  me." 

"But  I  am  so  wholly  at  a  disadvantage,  you  see! 
Who  are  the  parents  of  this  wonderful  child  ?  " 

"  Can  you  not  see  your  own  image  in  him  ?  Whose 
child  should  I  bring  you  as  a  present  but  your  own, 
Chris?" 

Chris  was  pierced  with  laughter. 

"  My  own  ?  "  he  cried :  "  is  this  boy  a  son  of  mine  ?  " 

"Yes,  Chris." 

"  But  are  you  certain,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  Chris,  can't  you  see  ?  " 

"Oh,  how  splendid!  He  does,  he  does  resemble 
me,  if  the  celestials  can  resemble  the  autochthones. 
He  is  indeed  my  very  self:  what,  can  you  play  the 
fiddle,  lad?  You  soon  will,  I  can  see:  look,  Kathleen, 
a  blind  man  could  tell  that  he  has  music  in  the  breadth 
between  the  ears,  blessed  darling,  kiss,  kiss.  But, 
Kathleen,  are  you  quite  sure  ?  I  must  confess  that 
you  surprise  me.  Why  have  I  never  heard  of  his 
existence  before  ?     Who,  then,  is  his  divine  —  mother  ? ' 

"  Chris,  can  you  not  guess  that  even  now  ?  " 

"  I  declare  I  have  no  idea ! "  cried  Chris  staring,  with 

[227] 


The  Lost  Viol 

one  twinge  of  laughter;  "let  it  suffice  that  he  is  mine, 
my  own  image  and  likeness!  My  own  dear  'Viola,' 
you  have  indeed  more  than  fulfilled  your  promise! 
But  where,  then,  is  his  —  mother  ?  " 

Kathleen  moved  shyly  on  her  seat,  and  turned  away 
her  face. 

"Tell  me!"  said  Chris. 

A  blush  overspread  the  face  of  the  little  maid,  making 
her  younger  and  prettier. 

"  Think  whom  he  resembles,  Chris,  beside  yourself," 
she  just  murmured. 

"I  —  have  no  idea!"  said  Chris  at  a  loss.  "Is  it 
the  Baroness  Vescz  — ?     No,  I  am  foolish." 

"No,  not  she,"  murmured  Kathleen,  her  blush 
deepening  to  red,  as  she  added,  "  Is  he  not  like  me  — 
a  little  —  about  the  eyes  ?  " 

"  Mmm,  my  own  best  friend,"  groaned  Chris,  who, 
leaning  forward,  had  just  caught  the  little  maid's 
words,  "  yes  —  about  the  eyes  —  since  you  say  so  — 
he  does  distinctly  resemble  you." 

"  Well,  then." 

"But—" 

"Don't  press  me,  Chris:  I  am  only  a  girl." 

"Oh,  but  tears!  —  don't  cry,  don't  cry.  Forgive 
me :  I  don't  understand  —  I  am  so  utterly  at  a  loss  —  " 

"Who  but  his  mother  could  have  brought  him  to 
you?"  asked  Kathleen  through  sobs,  with  a  covered 
face,  whereat  Chris,  though  half-crying  for  sympathy, 
again  had  a  throe  of  laughter. 

[228] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"But  don't  cry,"  he  said:  "it  is  all  right,  I  don't 
know  why  you  cry;  at  present  you  speak  of  a  mystery, 
but  all  will  presently  be  made  clear." 

"He  is  yours  and  mine." 

"Quite  so:  don't  cry,  don't  cry." 

"  You  don't  believe  me,  but  it  is  true." 

"Well,  I  am  most  flattered:  don't  cry." 

"You  think  me  crazy,  but  did  you  never  suspect 
that—" 

"Well?" 

"That  I  am—" 

"What?" 

"A  little  mother,  Chris?" 

"I  didn't  know.  It  is  the  very  highest  dignity  on 
earth." 

"  It  is  sweet  to  be  a  mother,  Chris,  yes,  it  is  sweet  to 
the  heart,  Chris:  little  did  I  dream  before,  but  now  I 
know  —  to  have  something  which  is  your  very,  very 
own,  as  that  boy  is  mine." 

At  this  the  little  maid  wept  afresh,  for  for  two 
nights  she  had  been  wallowing  in  the  feeling  that  the 
boy  was,  really,  her  offspring,  as  little  girls  are  their 
dolls'  true  mothers,  and  as  a  hen  will  think  a  pheasant- 
chick  truly  hers  because  she  has  hatched  it  and  it  is 
under  her  wing. 

"  Is  this  divine  child  yours  ? "  asked  the  simple,  good 
Chris. 

'Yes,"  murmured  the  little  maid,  weeping  quietly, 
without  meaning  to  tell  an  untruth. 

[220] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"  I  felicitate  you  from  my  heart !    But  —  " 

"  Oh,  Chris,  don't  doubt  my  word." 

"If     I  don't !     I  was  only  going  to  say  — " 

"You  are  his  father,  Chris:  you  can  see  it  for  your- 
self." 

"  Precisely !    But,  my  own  best  friend,  —  " 

"Listen,  Chris:  I  am  only  a  girl,  and  it  is  hard  to 
say,  but  it  must  be  said.  There  is  a  night  of  your 
life  which  has  passed  out  of  your  memory.  It  is  the 
night  when  you  gave  your  first  great  London  recital, 
at  Queen's  Hall.  Try  to  remember  it.  After  the 
concert  you  went  to  several  places  with  a  lot  of  men, 
and  drank  a  good  deal.  I  was  in  love,  and  followed 
you  in  a  cab;  then  I  was  mad  enough  to  come  here, 
and  you  let  me  in." 

"  Good  God  !  "  murmured  Chris  under  his  breath. 

"  Try  to  remember,"  went  on  Kathleen :  "  that  same 
night  a  burglar  somehow  entered  your  rooms,  and 
stole  from  you  a  viol  di  Gamba,  your  watch  and  chain, 
and  some  other  things  — " 

"I  remember,"  breathed  Chris,  with  a  look  of  horror. 

"And  do  you  remember  sleeping  till  three  or  four 
the  next  afternoon  ?  I  was  vexed  with  myself,  and 
left  you  asleep  about  two  in  the  afternoon.  But  I 
needn't  have  been  so  vexed,  for  I  see  now  that  my 
only  fault  was  in  coming  to  your  door,  since  something 
or  other  that  we  both  drank  took  away  our  senses,  our 
memory,  and  everything.  This  accounts  for  the  late 
sleeping  the  next  day." 

[230] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Something  that  we  drank?" 

"  Yes :  isn't  it  a  fact  that  Grimani  takes  hashish  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you  won't  remember,  but  I  do,  that  just 
about  that  time  you  dismissed  Grimani,  and  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  Grimani  must  have  put 
some  hashish  into  your  Alicante  that  day,  out  of  re- 
venge; for  I  happen  to  know  that  he  does  take 
hashish,  and  I  have  lately  found  out  that  the  symp- 
toms of  hashish  are  the  same  as  mine  and  yours  that 
night." 

"Good  God,  can  this  have  happened?"  groaned 
Chris  to  himself,  with  a  hopeless  brow  on  his  hand. 

At  this  point  the  unhappy  boy,  who  had  wriggled 
from  Chris'  knee  to  the  floor,  and  had  been  looking 
from  Chris  to  Kathleen  and  from  Kathleen  to  Chris, 
turned  down  his  mouth,  and  began  to  cry,  saying, 
"I  want  mama." 

"He  means  his  nurse,"  remarked  the  little  maid: 
"come,  Chris,  to  mama,  come." 

It  was  while  she  was  saying  this  that  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  front  "  oak,"  and  half  a  minute  afterwards 
Grimani  looked  in,  saying,  "Lady  Wilson  to  see  you, 
sir." 

"Who?"  asked  Chris. 

"'Lady  Wilson,'  she  told  me,  sir." 

"Can  it  be  Hannah?"  asked  Chris  of  Kathleen. 

"Oh,  God!"  breathed  Kathleen,  half  rising  with  a 
face  of  terror,  "we  mustn't  meet." 

[  231  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Tell  the  lady  that  I  am  not  at  home  for  the 
moment,"  said  Chris  to  Grimani. 

"  I  told  her  so,  sir,  but  she  came  inside,  and  said  that 
she  must  see  you  at  once." 

Instantly  Kathleen  caught  up  the  crying  child,  and 
ran  away  with  it  into  Chris's  bedroom. 


[232] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"Didn't  I  hear  a  child  crying?"  asked  Hannah, 
appearing  heatedly  before  Chris  without  being  asked 
in  (the  crying  was  no  more  heard,  for  Kathleen  had 
closed  three  heavy  doors  between). 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  asked  Chris  feebly. 

"  I  was  almost  sure  —     Was  there  a  child  here  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  what  is  the  matter?" 

"  I  thought  I  recognized  —  Oh,  it  is  only  my  silli- 
ness," she  sighed,  dropping  into  an  easy-chair.  "  Every 
child  I  hear,  I  think  —  Bear  with  me  a  moment,  I  am 
so  tired." 

She  sat  with  closed  eyes,  and  Chris  stood  looking  at 
her  with  a  wrinkled  brow. 

"  I  come  to  you  in  great  trouble,"  she  said,  "  all  that 
I  had  —  a  good  half  anyway  —  My  child  has  been 
stolen :  I  come  to  his  father ;  perhaps  you  can  do  some- 
thing.    Tried  not  to  come,  but  my  feet  brought  me." 

"  Do  you  say  that  I  am  his  father  ? "  asked  Chris, 
with  half  a  laugh. 

"Yes,  then." 

Again  on  a  sudden  Chris  was  pierced  with  laughter, 
for  every  one  wished  to  accuse  him  of  fatherhood. 

'This  is  sufficiently  barefaced,"  he  said. 

[  233  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Oh,  well,"  she  sighed. 

"  Is  it  not  really  so  ?  What  can  you  mean  ?  You 
wear  the  livery  of  an  honorable  profession." 

"I  am  quite  worn  out.  Give  me  a  few  minutes, 
then  I  will  tell  you.  You  needn't  be  afraid,  you  will 
believe  everything  I  say." 

"  Well,  I  hope  so.  Grimani  I  —  let  me  get  you  some 
wine." 

"  Yes,  but  not  Alicante "  —  her  eyes  twinkled  a 
little  —  "I  have  tasted  your  Alicante  before." 

"But  when?" 

"  Over  four  years  ago,  that  night  of  your  first  recital 
at  Queen's  Hall." 

"  What,  you,  too  ?  Grimani,  a  glass  of  —  shall  we 
say  Chrypre,  Muscat?" 

"  Yes,  Muscat,  and  if  you  have  any  biscuits :  I  haven't 
tasted  since  yesterday." 

"Quickly,  Grimani,  some  mortadel  sandwiches." 

"  That's  right.  He's  gone  —  somehow  —  some- 
where. I  went  out  night  before  last  at  half -past  twelve 
to  be  at  a  deathbed;  he  was  gone  when  I  came  back, 
vanished,  don't  know  how  or  why:  God  knows." 

"Your  son?" 

"Yes." 

"  Have  you  communicated  with  the  police  ?  " 

"Of  course.  No  clue.  No  one  to  suspect.  Oh, 
my  soul  is  sorrowful  unto  death,  Chris  Wilson. 

"Never  mind,  he  shall  be  found  for  you:  don't  cry." 

"Oh,  I  am  not  crying,  but  it's  a  nice  old  wrench, 

[  234  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

you  know,  like  having  your  jaw  carried  away.    I  was 
fond  of  him." 

"Don't  cry,  don't  cry:  he  shall  certainly  be  found 
for  you." 

"  You  think  so  ?  But  what  will  you  do  ?  What  can 
you?" 

"I  can  spend  money,  if  that  is  any  good." 

"That's  no  good,  I'm  afraid.  If  the  police  can't 
find  him,  no  one  will.  Are  you  never  to  see  him,  I 
wonder?  You  would  merely  have  worshiped  him: 
he  is  the  loveliest  —  and  the  picture  of  you,  only 
fairer." 

"Ah?" 

"  He  has  your  mouth,  your  eyes,  your  hands  — " 

"  He  might  leave  me  my  hands,  to  practise  with." 

"There,  he  jests.  Don't  believe,  really?  I  almost 
forgot  that  I  hadn't  told  you.  Well,  I  feel  better 
now:  you  shall  hear.  On  the  night  of  your  first  recital, 
I  came  here  to  you  "  —  she  told  the  whole  story  of  her 
entrance,  of  the  wine,  of  the  strange  drunkenness,  of 
her  waking  and  flight  the  next  afternoon  with  the  viol 
di  Gamba,  etc.  Chris  listened  looking  out  on  the 
Gardens.  Having  just  been  hearing  the  very  same 
tale  from  Kathleen,  he  could  only  assume  that  one  of 
the  two  had  heard  of  the  escapade  from  the  other, 
and  was  an  imposter.     Both  could  hardly  be  true. 

"Were  you  and  I  alone  here  that  night?"  he  asked. 

"Yes;  I  didn't  see  Grimani." 

"  No  other  lady  was  here  ?  " 

[235] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Lady?     Of  course  not." 

By  this  time  the  little  maid,  who  had  now  quieted 
the  child,  and  left  it  in  an  inner  room,  was  holding 
her  ear  at  a  keyhole,  and  undergoing  the  keenest  strain 
of  mind  at  what  she  heard. 

"And  as  to  the  viol  di  Gamba,  the  watch  and  chain, 
and  the  other  things  which  you  took,"  said  Chris,  "  do 
you  happen  to  have  any  of  them  with  you  at  present  ?  " 

"No;  I  have  lost  them." 

"  Lost  them  ?     Not  all  of  them." 

"Yes." 

"But  how?" 

"  They  were  stolen  out  of  my  trunk,  I  suppose.  For 
five  years  I  have  been  trying  all  the  time  to  find  them. 
No  good." 

"So  that  what  was  purloined  by  you  was  in  turn 
purloined  from  you  ?  " 

"I  couldn't  purloin  what  was  my  own,  you  know." 

"No,  I  forgot:  they  were  your  own.  But  first  your 
'proofs'  were  stolen,  and  now  the  child  itself?  You 
are  very  unfortunate." 

"Yes;  but  don't  blame  me  for  that." 

"I  don't  blame  you.  But  can  one  be  so  unfortu- 
nate ?  " 

"Oh,  there  are  worse  things  than  that.  The  big 
woes  happen  inside.  I'd  rather  that  than  a  sluggish 
liver,  or  a  cold  heart." 

"  Hannah,"  murmured  Chris,  "  how  excellent  you  — 
have  been." 

[236] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Chris,"  she  said,  "how  flattering  you  —  are." 

"  I  have  the  utmost  faith  in  your  liver,  Hannah  — 
though  I  think  I  should  prefer  a  sluggish  liver  to  the 
loss  of  my  only  child." 

"If  your  liver  was  sluggish,  your  very  pity  and 
grief  would  be  sluggish,  too.  It  is  because  mine  is 
rather  hot  for  me  alone  that  I  came  here  for  your 
sympathy." 

'  Well,  I  give  you  that,  if  you  have  lost  your  child, 
though  I  mustn't  pretend  that  my  sorrow  is  paternal. 
It  is  the  mother  that  interests  me.  I  see  that  you  are 
even  more  beautifully  blooming  than  ever,  and  looking 
charming  in  that  costume." 

'  There,  he  is  falling  in  love  now.  But  not  now,  my 
friend,  not  now.     Pity  me  now." 

"Well,  you  seem  to  suffer  genuinely.  Tell  me  if 
you  have  really  lost  a  child." 

She  started,  saying  gently,  "Don't  believe,  really?" 

"Put  yourself  in  my  place,"  said  Chris  in  pain, 
"  how  can  I  possibly  ?  It  is  most  distressing.  Do 
you  still  say  that  your  child  is  mine  also  ? " 

Hannah's  eyes  rested  upon  him,  but  she  answered 
nothing. 

"Don't  you  see,"  said  Chris,  "how  impossible  it 
looks  ?  How  long,  for  instance,  after  that  night  of 
my  recital  did  you  marry  a  second  time?" 

"About  three  months  after." 

"  And  you  married  another  man,  knowing  —  ?  You 
wouldn't  have  done  that." 

[237] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Oh,  Chris,  you  are  cross-examining  me." 

"Yes,  in  your  own  interests:  you  have  made  certain 
statements  to  me,  and  I  wish  you  to  know  that  I  am 
more  or  less  awake,  so  that  you  may  make  no  more  of 
the  same  kind.  I  don't  know  what  is  your  motive  for 
saying  such  things,  but  I  warn  you  that  they  are  not 
credible." 

"  Well,  blessed  are  the  wounds  of  a  friend,  Chris." 

"Yes,  it  is  all  very  well  to  speak  in  that  way,  but 
drop  the  queer  statements,  and  then  we  can  truly  be 
friends.  What  you  say  is  really  not  credible:  you 
would  hardly  have  lost  the  viol  and  all  the  other  things, 
and  you  would  most  certainly  not  have  married  a  new 
man,  if  you  had  been  about  to  be  a  mother.  You 
admit  that  you  did  marry  the  man  ?  " 

"Yes:  that  was  merely  formal." 

"Now  comes  yet  a  new  statement,  you  see,  and  if  it 
were  credible,  I  should  rush  gladly  into  belief.  What 
could  have  been  your  motive  for  a  merely  formal 
marriage  with  this  man  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  must  never  tell  you  that :  I  am  forbidden 
to  whisper  it  even  to  my  own  left  hand;  but  it  wasn't 
a  bad  motive." 

"But  the  left  hand  knows,  Hannah,  being  the  ring 
hand." 

'Yes,  but  cynicism  always  runs  a  terrible  risk  of 
being  unkind,"  she  said  with  a  pout. 

"My  own  dear  friend,"  said  Chris  feelingly  —  "yes, 
runs  a  terrible  risk  of  being  unkind,  but  put  yourself 

[238] 


The  Lost  Viol 

in  my  place.  For  some  five,  six,  seven  years  perhaps, 
we  have  not  seen  each  other;  during  that  time,  though 
I  have  led  a  busy  life,  never  a  week  has  passed  in  which 
I  have  not  thought  of  you  with  tenderness  and  longed 
to  see  you,  in  spite  of  your  abandonment  of  me,  for  I 
have  said  to  myself,  'Perhaps  she  abandoned  me  be- 
cause I  abandoned  her.'  Imagine,  therefore,  if  I  wish 
to  be  cynical  rather  than  to  be  kind.  I  would  give 
anything.  But  you  suddenly  appear  before  me  with  a 
number  of  statements.  At  one  time,  if  you  had  said  to 
me,  '  The  sky  is  made  of  paper,'  I  should  have  trusted 
you.  But  you  admit  your  second  marriage;  and  suppose 
I  tell  you  that  not  four  days  ago  your  terrible  '  merely 
formal '  husband  spoke  to  me  of  your  child  and  his  ? " 

"  Willie  Dawe?" 

"I  think  that  that  is  his  name." 

Hannah  sat  over  the  fire,  her  chin  on  her  palm, 
staring. 

"  My  own  Willie  ? "  she  said  presently,  "  spoke  of 
the  child  as  his  ? " 

'Yes,"  said  Chris  with  some  bitterness. 

"I  didn't  know  that  he  knew  that  I  have  a  child." 

"That  is  yet  a  statement." 

"They  are  all  pretty  true,  Chris." 

"Granted.     But  you  see  why  I  disbelieve  them?" 

"No,  I  don't.  I  never  conceived  that  you  would 
really  doubt  me.  Let  all  the  world  doubt  me,  but  you 
believe  me,  Chris." 

"  What,  against  my  five  wits ! " 

[239] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Yes:  I  expect  that  of  you." 

"  By  Heaven,  you  will  either  drive  me  mad,  or  force 
me  to  press  you  to  my  heart.  I  love  you,  if  only  for 
your  audacity." 

"  Believe  me  first,  and  press  me  to  your  heart  after, 
my  friend." 

"  It  would  be  a  costly  embrace !  bought  at  the  expense 
of  my  reason." 

"Never  mind  about  reason:  believe  in  Hannah." 

"I  —  almost  do ! "  laughed  Chris,  with  opened  arms. 

'  That's  brave :  make  one  rough  effort  against  your- 
self, and  then  you  will." 

"  You  have  the  very  accent  and  face  of  truth ! " 

"  There,  he's  coming  round,"  said  Hannah,  laughing 
with  pleasure:  "  I  shall  soon  have  you  all  straight  now." 

"  Do  you  laugh  at  my  simplicity  ?  "  asked  Chris. 

"No,  I  laugh  for  joy  because  we  know  each  other 
inside  like  brothers,  and  our  friendship  is  sealed  up 
above  forever.  Everything  proves  me  a  liar,  and  yet 
you  believe  me." 

"But  I  don't!" 

"  You  do  inside  —  you  soon  will :  keep  looking  into 
my  eyes,  and,  the  moment  you  believe,  you  can  kiss 
me,  and  be  friends." 

"  Have  I  a  longing  look  ?  " 

"Oh,  one  can  see  that  you  are  hankering  to  regain 
possession:  let's  be  frank." 

'"De  Vaudace,  et  encore  de  Vaudace,  et  tou  jours  de 
Vaudace,' "  murmured  Chris,  smiling  icily. 

[  240  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Ah,  now,  that's  backsliding.  No,  I'd  better  go, 
since  you  are  in  this  mood.  You  shan't  see  me  again 
for  another  year "  —  she  sprang  up  so  sharply,  that 
Chris  was  taken  aback. 

"Are  you  going?"  he  asked  rather  ruefully:  "in 
another  year  we  shall  both  be  older."  He  was  ever  a 
miser  of  his  youth. 

"Oh,  not  I!"  laughed  Hannah,  "there's  no  need 
for  anybody  to  grow  a  day  older";  then,  with  a  fickle 
change  of  face,  looking  upward  with  triumph,  she  said: 
'They  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall  renew  their 
youth:  they  shall  mount  up  with  wings  as  eagles. 
Good-by ! "  she  offered  her  right  hand  sharply,  covering 
her  moist  eyes  with  the  left. 

"Mmm,"  groaned  Chris,  "don't  cry,"  and  wished 
to  come  near  to  her,  but  she  caught  away  her  hand 
from  him,  and  slipped  away  round  the  table,  saying, 
"  No,  believe  first." 

"I  do,  I  do,"  he  said  with  a  flushed  face. 

"  Fully  ? " 

"Yes." 

"There,  I  have  won  him!"  running  to  him  and 
kissing  him  —  "  and  only  by  a  trick  "  —  kissing  him  — 
"a  fiddler  can't  stand  tears,  even  half-crocodile  ones" 
—  kissing  him. 

"Amazing  chameleon,"  murmured  Chris,  kissing  her, 
"  have  you  tricked  me  ? " 

"Oh,  no  more  backsliding,"  said  Hannah,  dropping 
again  with  a  fickle  change  and  sigh  into  her  easy-chair, 

[241] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"and  no  more  kissing.  Oh,  you  don't  know,  Chris: 
my  soul  is  exceeding  bitter  and  sorrowful  this  day, 
God  knows.  Aren't  you  going  to  give  me  my  little  boy 
back?" 

Chris  stood  in  thought  for  some  time,  and  then  said : 

"Listen,  Hannah:  I  will  tell  you  now  what  was  my 
chief  reason  for  disbelieving  your  story:  it  was,  that 
another  lady  declares  that  she  spent  here  the  very 
night  that  you  claim;  you  can't  both  be  true;  and  she 
proved  her  case  by  showing  me  a  child,  a  boy,  which 
is  certainly  very  like  me:  so  I  couldn't  believe  you. 
But  it  occurs  to  me  now  that,  in  case  she  be  false,  and 
you  true,  then  the  child  which  she  has  may  be  the 
very  one  which  you  have  lost." 

"It  is,  of  course!"  cried  Hannah,  springing  up  in  a 
jubilee;  "he  is  found!  and  I'll  never  lose  sight  of  him 
again.  Where  is  he  now?  Was  that  his  crying  I 
heard  —  " 

"  No.     Wait.     Describe  your  son  to  me. " 

"  Curly  golden  hair,  your  eyes,  but  much  lighter  and 
larger,  your  hands  and  large  mouth,  but  more  like  an 
angel  than  like  —  " 

"  Then  it  is  very  likely  the  same." 

"But  where  is  he?  When  can  I  have  him?  He 
only  likes  oaten  bread  —  must  be  suffering  miseries  —  " 

"No,  don't  be  impatient,  wait,  wait.  I  know  now 
what  I  shall  do.  You  shall  see  him  here  —  to-morrow 
evening  at  this  hour." 

"But   why?     Why?     Where   is   he?     Who   is  this 

[242] 


The  Lost  Viol 

awful  woman  ?  Am  I  to  leave  my  child  to  her  ten- 
der mercies  till  to-morrow  evening?  Oh,  fair's  fair, 
Chris!  Don't  rob  me  of  my  child  for  a  whole  night 
and  day!" 

"But  I  don't  understand  your  extreme  impatience," 
said  Chris:  "just  now  you  didn't  expect  to  find  him  at 
all,  and  now  you  chafe  at  one  day's  delay.  You  must 
wait,  since  I  can't  do  any  better  for  you.  Besides,  he 
is  in  the  hands  of  a  lady  who  will  pet  him  up,  and  keep 
him  warm  and  nice." 

"Oh!  he'll  laugh  at  any  one's  petting!" 
"Still,  you  must  wait:  come  to-morrow  at  seven,  and 
I  undertake  that  the  child  and  the  other  woman  who 
claims  him  shall  be  here,  too.  If  he  is  your  son,  we 
shall  know  it  in  a  moment  by  his  conduct;  then  we 
shall  be  certain  that  your  story  is  true,  for  there's  no 
doubt  that  he  is  my  son." 

"  But,  Chris,  you  submit  me  to  tests  and  proofs." 
"  Forgive  me,  will  you  ?  That's  not  because  I  any 
longer  disbelieve  you,  but  as  a  formal  justice  to  the 
other  little  woman,  whom  I  fully  believed  up  to  the 
moment  when  you  came  in.  Now  I  shall  keep  an 
open  mind  till  your  interview,  and  then  I  shall  judge 
between  you.  It  will  be  a  cruel  ordeal  for  the  liar, 
but  she  deserves  it." 

"  But  who  can  this  woman  be  ?  I  am  perfectly  be- 
wildered! Some  one  came  to  my  place  four  times  on 
the  day  the  child  was  stolen,  asking  for  me,  saying  that 
she  was  a  '  friend,'  but  I  haven't  been  able  to  identify 

[243] 


The  Lost  Viol 

her  from  my  landlady's  description.  I  wonder  if  it 
is  the  same  ?  " 

"Probably  not.  I  won't  tell  you  now.  You  will 
see  her  to-morrow." 

"But  she  won't  come  to  be  proved  a  liar!  She  will 
hide  my  child !  —  " 

"  No,  I  undertake  that  she  will  come  with  the  child. 
Woe  to  her,  if  she  doesn't.  But  I  have  some  one 
waiting  in  yonder :  will  you  go  now  ?  and  come  back  in 
an  hour  to  dine  with  me  ?     Do  you  live  far  from  here  ?  " 

"Ten  minutes'  walk.  But  I  shan't  come  back:  too 
tired  and  sad.     Good-by." 

"  Are  you  pleased  with  me  now  ?  " 

"Whatever  you  do  is  well  done  for  me:  that's  all 
settled  and  done  with." 

"  What,  still  ?     Do  you  still  love  me,  Hannah  ?  " 

"Let  me  go.     I  will  tell  you  to-morrow  night." 

"  Why  on  earth  did  you  marry  that  horrible  man  ?  " 

"He  isn't  horrible,  only  unhappy.     Good-by." 

Chris  just  managed  to  steal  a  kiss  askance  from  her 
cheek,  and  she  was  gone. 

"  To-morrow  at  seven ! "  he  called  after  her. 

"  All  right,"  she  said  over  her  shoulder,  but  — " 


[  244  1 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  minute  after  Hannah  was  gone,  Kathleen  came 
out  to  Chris  leading  the  boy,  looking  a  picture  of 
nervous  flurry  and  unrule. 

"I  don't  know  if  you  heard  anything,  Kathleen," 
said  Chris,  looking  at  her  gravely  under  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  said  the  little  maid  with  a  breathless 
vehemence,  with  a  twitching  of  the  lips. 

"Hannah,  you  see,  claims  your  little  one." 

"  Base  thing !  I  had  told  her  everything  —  this  is 
the  result  —    You  ought  to  be  ashamed,  Chris  —  " 

"Of  what?" 

"  Of  being  so  miserably  her  dupe  —  of  kissing  her 
like  a  slave  —  I  told  you  how  low  she  had  fallen  —  I 
brought  you  her  husband  —  " 

"  He  is  not  really  her  husband  — " 

"Yes,  defend  her,  Chris,  a  woman  of  the  middle- 
class  —  a  farmer's  daughter  —  fallen  to  the  dregs  of 
society  —  I  know  that  I  am  only  a  little  hunchback, 
my  word  is  not  as  good  as  hers,  but  not  a  soul  knows 
me,  I  will  show  you  all  what  I  am,  I  am  the  greatest 
being  that  ever  breathed,  I  defy  you  all  — " 

"Mmm,  my  dear  friend,  don't — " 

"  Base  thing!     Didn't  she  dare  to  claim  to  be  '  Viola,' 

[245  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

too?  It's  a  wonder!  for  I  told  her  about  that,  too; 
she  could  have  said  that  the  Nicolo  was  stolen  from 
her,  as  well  as  the  child,  but  she  didn't  dare  — " 

"Oh,  but  don't— " 

"Base  thing!  She  wants  money  of  you  to  support 
her  husband,  that  is  the  cause  of  this  elaborate  acting 
—  and  her  word  to  be  taken  against  mine,  and  she  to 
be  kissed  and  worshiped,  and  sent  away  in  triumph, 
and  all  the  time  the  child  is  mine,  my  very  own,  and 
every  word  I  say  is  true  —  true  because  /  say  it  —  no 
other  reason  —  that's  enough  —  because  /  say  it,  you 
hear,  Chris?" 

"But,  good  God,  do  you  wish  to  drive  a  poor  man 
mad?"  cried  Chris  with  a  sudden  flush:  "can't  you 
let  me  speak  ? " 

"  Oh,  let  me  get  out  of  here!"  said  Kathleen,  moving 
sharply  to  hobble  off. 

"Stay!  stay!  Do  you  understand,  Kathleen,  that 
Hannah  will  be  here  at  seven  to-morrow  evening  in 
order  that  she  may  meet  you  and  the  child  ?  " 

"But  do  you  imagine  for  a  moment  that  she  will 
come?"  screamed  Kathleen,  turning  upon  him  with  a 
face  of  rage.  "  She  won't  come !  She  knows  that  the 
child  is  mine!" 

"She  said  the  very  same  thing  of  you,  that  you 
wouldn't  come." 

"But  I  will!  Whom  do  you  believe,  her  or  me? 
I'll  come,  if  only  to  punish  you,  but  she  won't!  Qui 
vivra  verra  1 "  and  the  little  maid  was  off,  with  stamps 

[246] 


The  Lost  Viol 

in  her  hobbling,  dragging  the  astonished  child,  while 
Chris  chased  her  with  "  Don't  think  that  I  doubt  you ! 
I  keep  a  perfectly  open  mind  till  to-morrow;  but  per- 
haps if  you  leave  the  child,  I  could  manage  — "  but 
she  went  out  without  a  backward  glance  or  answer, 
Chris  looking  after  her  with  his  foolish,  meek  look 
till  she  disappeared  down  the  stairs. 

The  little  maid  drove  thence  to  the  Hotel  Metropole, 
but,  without  alighting  there,  sent  up-stairs  for  the 
child's  nurse,  gave  the  child  to  her,  and  said  to  her 
coachman,  "To  Scotland  Yard." 

At  Scotland  Yard  she  had  a  ten  minutes'  interview 
with  an  official,  to  whom  she  reported  the  fact  of 
Hannah's  two  marriages,  with  the  dates,  then  drove 
back  to  the  hotel,  and  spent  the  night  there  with  her 
now  doubly-dear  boy.  On  the  morrow  she  might  be 
childless,  but  for  that  night  at  least  she  was  a  little 
mother,  with  her  own  offspring  in  her  arms. 

Most  of  the  next  day  she  spent  at  the  Savoy  Hotel 
with  Miss  Olivia,  who  was  still  in  a  state  of  wonder 
as  to  the  where  and  why  of  Kathleen's  nightly  absences: 
and  sharp  at  seven  the  little  maid  was  at  Chris's  "  oak  " 
with  the  child,  to  keep  the  appointment  made  by  Chris. 

'  Thanks  infinitely  for  coming,"  said  Chris,  catching 
up  the  boy  to  his  breast,   "you  are  the  first  to  arrive." 

"But  it  is  humiliating,  Chris,"  said  Kathleen,  re- 
proachfully. 

"  I  see  that ;  but  bear  with  me,  since  it  was  my  only 
way." 

[247] 


The  Lost  Viol 

They  sat  down  and  waited  for  Hannah  to  come. 
Little  was  said.  Kathleen  toyed  with  her  boy,  who 
was  now  becoming  tamer  to  her  caresses.  The  lamp 
was  not  lit;  the  room,  though  inflamed  by  the  firelight, 
grew  duskier  and  duskier.  Anon  Chris  peered  at  his 
watch;  the  ticking  of  a  clock  in  the  room  filled  the  si- 
lence ;  Kathleen,  pale  at  first,  after  a  time  brightened  up, 
came  out  like  the  sun  from  all  cloud  and  trouble,  and 
said  smiling,  "Well,  I  seem  to  be  last  as  well  as  first." 

"She  is  late,"  remarked  Chris. 

"But  this  is  tiresome.     Do  play  something,  Chris." 

"No  verve,"  said  Chris  with  a  pathetic  smile. 

"Til  play,"  cried  the  little  maid,  starting  up  to  the 
piano;  she  played  a  polonaise,  anon  calling  out  to  the 
boy  through  the  noise  with  lively  glances  round,  "  Dance, 
Chrisie!"  Then  she  played  the  third  Lied  of  the 
second  book,  and  then,  with  flushed  cheeks,  a  Brahms 
movement,  "  Guten  Abend,  gute  Nacht,"  in  the  midst 
of  which  last  Chris  leapt  up  with  a  start  which  lifted 
his  hair  in  a  mass,  and  began  to  pace  about  with  a 
red  brow.     It  was  eight  o'clock. 

The  little  maid  stood  up  with  a  laugh. 

"  You  won't  ever  doubt  me  again,  Chris  ? "  —  with  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  a  happy  light  in  her  eyes. 

"  Forgive  my  unbelief,"  he  said  absently,  patting  her 
back,  "you  shall  be  recompensed.  Oh,  I  have  been  a 
dreamer!"  he  brought  his  palm  to  his  forehead,  and 
threw  himself  desperately  upon  a  couch:  Hannah  did 
not  come,  and  white  was  black  to  Chris, 

[248] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

The  very  morning  after  that  failure  of  Hannah  to 
come  to  Chris's  chambers  for  her  child,  Chris  left 
England  for  the  Continent.  The  little  maid  wrote  of 
it:  "He  felt  her  non-appearance  —  keenly,  too.  Well, 
let  him  write  a  notturno  over  it,  as  he  wrote  Mortalite 
over  poor  some  one's  dead  body,  and  then  he  won't 
care  any  more,  when  he  has  once  made  '  copy '  of  his 
sighs.  I  got  his  note  at  two  p.  m.,  four  hours  after  he 
had  gone:  'My  own  dear  friend,  1  find  it  necessary  to 
leave  England  at  once,  but  you  will  be  kept  always 
informed  of  my  whereabouts,  as  I  hope  you  will  keep 
me  informed  of  yours,  so  that  the  future  of  the  close 
relation  which  exists  between  us  may  be  fully  discussed 
between  us  by  letter;  moreover,  we  are  certain  to  meet 
either  at  Orrock  or  in  some  quarter  of  the  globe. 
Meantime,  you  may  be  sure  I  carry  "Viola"  about  in 
my  heart.  Kiss  the  darling  boy  for  me,  mentioning 
every  day  to  him  the  name  of  his  father.  Ever  yours 
sincerely,  Chris  Wilson.'  He  sticks  to  his  'Viola.'  It 
is  rather  a  mercy  that  Hannah  in  her  interview  with 
him  never  mentioned  about '  Viola,'  or  about  the  Nicolo 
being  lost:  I  suppose  she  was  too  full  of  the  loss  of  the 
child  to  trouble  about  anything  else;  if  she  had  men- 

[  240  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

tioned  it,  that  might  have  shaken  Chris's  certainty  as 
to  me  being  'Viola,'  for  there  are  already  things  in 
the  letters  against  it,  such  as  'Viola's'  description  of 
herself  as  tall,  and  the  rot  about '  joy,'  '  health,' '  having 
life,'  and  so  on.  But  the  mere  fact  of  my  having  the 
Nicolo  must  be  to  Chris  an  overwhelming  proof  that 
I  am  'Viola,'  and  the  fact  of  no  more  letters  coming 
now  from  'Viola'  must  be  an  added  proof. 

"  At  five  p.  m.  on  the  day  after  the  '  ordeal '  and 
Hannah's  arrest  I  went  to  her  place,  for  I  was  eager  to 
hear  everything;  had  a  long  talk  with  Mrs.  Reid,  the 
landlady,  and  got  her  to  take  me  up  to  Hannah's 
room,  that  I  might  look  round  the  place  in  which  I 
had  trembled  and  dared.  It  looked  pretty  desolate, 
like  a  room  from  which  the  dead  has  been  carried  out. 
I  was  frightened,  and  didn't  go  right  in,  or  stay  long 
up  there.  Mrs.  Reid  said  that  Hannah  had  told  her 
the  morning  before  that  she  would  be  giving  up  the 
rooms,  since  she  was  going  to  live  with  her  husband 
thenceforth,  that  the  child  was  found,  and  that  she 
was  going  for  it  to  Gray's  Inn  at  seven  in  the  evening. 
'  About  ten  minutes  to  seven,'  said  Mrs.  Reid,  '  she  ran 
down  the  stairs,  dressed  to  go  out.  I  happened  to  be 
at  the  front  door,  looking  out  for  the  coalman,  so  I 
said  to  her,  "  Going  for  him  now  ? "  she  smiled  and 
said,  "  Yes,  don't  be  impatient,  soon  have  more  of  him 
than  is  good  for  you."  She  looked  as  bright  as  an 
angel,  God  knows,  and  an  angel  is  what  we  all  thought 
her,  though  I  will  say  she  did  neglect  her  little  boy 

[250] 


The  Lost  Viol 

sometimes,  and  made  my  life  wretched  about  the 
blessed  mice ;  most  people  are  a  bit  nervous  of  a  mouse, 
but  not  like  her,  I've  seen  her  stand  on  a  bed  as  white 
as  a  corpse  —  " 

'"But  about  the  arrest,'  I  said  for  the  twentieth 
time;  but  it  was  another  hour  before  I  got  it  all  out  of 
the  endless  old  thing.  '  Just  as  Mrs.  Wilson  got  to 
the  door,'  she  said,  '  a  boy  named  Ralphie,  who  follows 
her  about  like  her  shadow,  ran  up  from  the  Medical 
Mission  in  Compton  Place,  to  tell  her  that  a  man  from 
the  timber-yard  named  Giddins  was  taken  worse;  she 
looked  rather  taken  aback,  glanced  at  her  watch,  hesi- 
tated a  bit  on  the  doorstep,  and  at  last  said  to  Ralphie, 
"Well,  come  on."  She  and  the  boy  then  ran  off  into 
Brunswick  Square.  Half  an  hour  afterwards  I  was  in 
the  kitchen,  when  I  heard  a  knock,  went  up,  and  found 
a  constable  and  another  man  at  the  door.  They 
wanted  to  know  if  Mrs.  Wilson  was  in.  "She  is  out," 
I  said.  "No,  she  isn't,"  said  the  one  in  plain  clothes, 
"  for  there  she  comes "  —  and  so,  true,  there  she  was 
coming  down  the  stairs  with  some  papers  in  her  hand, 
for,  after  seeing  the  sick  man,  she  must  have  come  in 
to  get  something,  and  now  was  just  starting  off  again 
to  Gray's  Inn.' 

"I  shivered  as  she  spoke:  one  minute's  difference 
and  Hannah  might  have  got  to  Gray's  Inn.  There's 
some  star  in  collusion  with  the  little  hunch.  They  had 
told  me  at  Scotland  Yard  that  she  would  probably  be 
arrested  by  noon. 

[251] 


The  Lost  Viol 


a  e 


:She  was  passing  out,'  Mrs.  Reid  said,  'when  the 
two  men  asked  if  she  was  Mrs.  Wilson.     She  said  yes. 
"Well,  a  warrant  has  been  issued  for  your  arrest," 
said  the  one  in  plain  clothes,  and  at  those  words  I 
almost  dropped  —  she  that  every  one  thought  was  so 
good!     But  you  never  know  who's  who  in  London, 
miss.     "  What  wrong  have  I  done  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling 
with  them.     "  You  are  charged,"  said  the  officer,  "  with 
contracting  a  bigamous  marriage  with   somebody  at 
so-and-so  on  such  a  date."     "How  can  you  know?" 
said  she.     "That's  neither  here  nor  there,"  said  he; 
"  take  notice  that  your  words  are  being  taken  down  "  — 
he  had  a  note-book  in  his  hand.     "  Well,  what  next  ?  " 
said  she.     "You  must  come  with  us  to  the  station," 
said  he.     " Oh,  not  now,"  said  she.     "Yes,  now,"  said 
he.     "  But  do  you  know  that  I  have  lost  my  child  ?  " 
said  she.     "  We  know  nothing  of  that,"  said  he,  "  you 
must  come."     "But  listen,"   said  she.     "We  can't," 
said  he,  "you  must  come."     "For  God's  sake,  will 
you?"   said   she.     "We  can't,"   said  he,  "you  must 
come  now:  if  you  have  any  statement  to  make,  you  can 
make  it  at  the  station."     "But  listen,  I  am  a  poor 
mother,"  said  she.     "Can't  help  that,"  said  he,  "you 
must  come  at  once."     "  But  if  any  time  is  lost,  a  wrong 
will  be  done,"  said  she,  "  and  you  would  not  like  it  to 
be  done  through  you."     "Very  sorry,"  said  he,  "but 
you  must  come."     "May  I  not  even  write  a  note?" 
said  she.     "Not  now,"  said  he.     "Well,  then,"  said 
she,  "  if  you  won't  listen  to  reason,  I  am  sorry  for  you." 

[252] 


The  Lost  Viol 

At  this  she  turned  and  said  at  my  ear,  "Tell  them  at 
the  Medical  Mission  that  I  had  to  go  away,  and  don't 
cry,  it  will  be  all  the  same  to  me  a  hundred  years 
hence."  She  kissed  me,  and  walked  away  between 
them,  with  a  little  crowd  of  boys  and  girls  following. 
I  ran  out  into  the  drizzle,  and  whispered  to  one  of  the 
men,  '"  Don't  be  hard  on  her,  now."  They  took  a 
four-wheeler  at  the  Foundling  rank.  .  .  .' 

'  The  old  thing  began  to  cry.  I  was  listening  to  her 
till  after  six,  then  drove  back  full  of  pity  and  fear  for 
poor  Hannah,  and  joy  at  the  awful  dangers  which  I 
had  escaped  the  evening  before.  It  is  a  mercy  that 
I  didn't  stay  at  Chris's  later  than  eight  o'clock,  for 
undoubtedly  Hannah  told  the  police-station  people  that 
her  lost  child  was  then  at  Chris's  place,  and  some  one 
may  have  been  sent  to  see  if  it  was  true.  I  don't  sup- 
pose that  much  weight  is  given  to  a  prisoner's  state- 
ments, but,  if  any  one  was  sent,  I  was  gone  when  he 
came;  Chris  must  have  been  out,  too,  at  that  hour, 
and  the  next  morning  early  was  off  to  the  Continent. 

"  I  meant  to  go  down  to  Orrock  at  once,  so  the  next 
thing  was  to  introduce  my  boy  to  Olivia;  I  didn't  mean 
to  invent  any  story  about  having  adopted  him,  for,  far 
from  being  ashamed  of  it,  I  glory  in  being  a  mother. 
That  night  we  had  Charlie  Podmore  with  Lady  Roden 
and  her  Lillian  and  Aimee,  so  after  they  were  gone  I 
made  Olivia  sit  at  my  feet  in  the  salon,  and  I  confessed 
to  her  all  about  the  recital  night,  the  drugged  wine, 
the  birth  of  the  child  --  everything.     She  was  amusing 

[  253  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

with  her  astonishment,  didn't  know  to  what  first  to 
apply  her  boundless  'but's.'  'But,'  she  said,  and 
stopped,  and  then  said  'but'  again.  I  didn't  care;  I 
was  too  happy;  I  shall  have  Chris  now  at  last;  I  have 
become  quite  reckless  and  jolly;  I  defy  every  one  and 
everything;  there's  a  little  star  somewhere  that  winks 
when  I  wink. 

" '  But  you  slept  with  me  on  the  night  of  that  recital ! ' 
Livie  managed  to  get  out  at  last. 

'"I  got  up  while  you  were  asleep,  and  came  back 
while  you  were  asleep,'  I  answered. 

"'But  — but— ' 

" '  Never  mind,  Olivia,'  I  said,  '  reconcile  yourself  to 
facts  as  they  are.' 

" '  But  which  facts ! '  she  cried ; '  you  are  only  acting  a 
part  to  yourself  and  to  me!  —  the  whole  thing  is  wildly 
incredible ! ' 

" '  You  won't  say  so  when  you  see  him,'  I  said.  '  You 
will  simply  sit  down  and  cry  for  joy  that  I  could  be  the 
little  mother  of  such  an  angel.  Chris  called  him  '  Eros' 
—  there  never  was  such  a  child  —  I  don't  say  it  be- 
cause I  am  his  mother;  try  to  imagine  what  Chris's 
soul  must  be  under  hashish,  Olivia,  like  Uriel  clad  in 
the  sunset;  and  I,  too,  was  under  hashish,  remember: 
the  child  is  a  peg  above  other  children  — ' 

" '  It's  all  play-acting ! '  she  cried :  "  where  —  when  —  ? 
I  have  always  been  with  you  except  those  three  months 
when  you  were  with  Louise  at  Davos!' 

"'It  was  then,'  I  said. 

[254] 


The  Lost  Viol 

'No,  if  it  is  impossible,  it  is  impossible/  she  said. 
'I  shall  write  and  ask  Louise.' 

'Louise  will  deny,'  I  said;  'it  is  a  secret  between 
her  and  me.' 

"'It  can't  be,  it  can't  be,'  she  said. 
'  But,  Livie,  why  so  ? '  I  pleaded.     '  Didn't  you  think 
that  I  was  capable  of  being  the  little  mother  of  a  sweet 
boy  ?    I  am  just  like  everybody,  Livie,  and  more  so.    It 
is  sweet  to  the  heart,  Livie,  to  be  a  mother  — ' 

"'Acting,  acting,  all  acting!'  she  cried,  shaking  her 
head;  and  I  got  angry,  saying,  'Well,  we  will  let  the 
subject  drop  now,  if  you  please.' 

'Yes,'  she  said,  'get  angry  if  you  please,  but  have 
I  no  cause  for  anger?  What  kind  of  thing  is  this 
which  you  have  brought  upon  me  ? ' 

" '  A  pure  honor,'  I  said,  'not  even  a  hint  of  disgrace. 
Chris  says  that  it  is  the  highest  dignity  on  earth  to  be 
a  mother.  And  the  mother  of  his  child!  Don't  the 
haphazard  sons  of  kings  become  dukes?  But  the 
world  looks  upon  Chris  as  far  above  any  king!' 

"'But  still,  Kathleen,'  she  said,  beginning  to  sniffle, 
'  it  is  hard  on  me  — ' 

'But  no  one  need  know,'  I  said  to  comfort  her, 
and  in  the  end  worked  her  round  to  a  state  of  mere 
curiosity  to  see  the  child:  when  I  brought  him  the 
next  forenoon  she  was  as  much  in  love  as  any  one. 
To-morrow  we  go  down,  and  shall  stay  at  the  Hill  till 
Hannah's  final  trial,  when  I  mean  to  come  up  for  two 
or  three  days  at  the  beginning  of  the  season;  they  say 

[255] 


The  Lost  Viol 

that  things  will  be  quite  dull  until  little  Teddy  comes 
into  his  own:  all  the  world  is  in  purple  mourning  by 
command.  I  shall  spend  the  whole  season  at  home 
with  German  philosophy,  botany,  music,  and  my  boy, 
without  receiving  at  all,  but  living  like  a  recluse. 
Perhaps  Chris  may  come  to  Orrock,.  .  ."  etc.,  etc. 

"  This  place,"  she  wrote  later,  "  is  certainly  haunted, 
and  nothing  could  keep  me  here  but  Chris's  promise 
to  come  down  at  any  moment;  but  I  must  reap  what 
I  have  sown;  there  have  been  moments  of  my  life,  like 
that  day  of  the  hiding  of  the  viol,  when  I  have  certainly 
danced  mad.  What  could  have  possessed  me  to  lift 
the  face-cloth?  Some  hand  took  mine  and  did  it: 
and  it  is  now  that  I  am  really  feeling  the  effects  of  it. 
Oh,  the  terrors  which  this  scheme  of  nerves  can  divine 
and  foreknow!  Something  lately  seems  to  threaten 
me,  I  am  conscious  of  it  afar  off,  it  lifts  its  head  within 
me  for  a  moment  and  just  whispers  of  eyeballs  staring 
and  shrieks  of  madness  ringing  through  deep  vaults  of 
the  earth,  which  some  day  I  shall  hear,  and  there  are 
times  when  somewhere  far  off  at  the  back  of  me  ten 
thousand  thunders  seem  mustering  themselves  to  hurry 
and  burst  upon  me.  What  is  the  meaning  of  it? 
Every  night  now  I  dream  of  him,  with  his  rigid  face. 
I  oughtn't  to  have  dared  put  the  things  into  his  coffin. 
But  what  else  was  left  me  to  do?  I  am  taking  phos- 
phorus, iron,  and  salicylate  of  soda;  these  last  four  days 
the  rheumatic  pains  in  the  left  leg,  and  the  indigestion, 
have  been  worse  than  ever.     Plato  says  that  a  healthy 

[256] 


The  Lost  Viol 

body  will  not  make  one  virtuous,  but  a  virtuous  mind 
will  make  one  healthy.  I  wonder?  Perhaps  I  could 
have  done  better,  better  for  myself.  But  what  is 
virtue?  Poor  'Viola'  says  mere  'vigor'  of  mind:  but 
if  you  haven't  got  the  vigor,  you  haven't,  that's  all,  as 
when  a  man  can't  jig,  he  can't  jig.  If  one's  vigor  of 
mind  may  be  strengthened  by  practising  goodness,  as 
one's  body  by  athletics,  still  you  must  have  some  vigor 
to  start  on.  Everything  is  God's  fault.  People  with 
heart  disease  can't  do  athletics.  I  shan't  care  about 
anything,  except  the  physical  pains,  and  the  terrors. 
Life  is  about  equally  troublesome  to  every  one,  and  I 
shouldn't  change  places  with  poor  Hannah  now.  I 
have  my  boy,  and  some  little  day  I  shall  be  standing 
at  an  altar  with  a  certain  C.  W.  That's  plenty  to  have 
lived  for. 

"  Olivia  returned  last  night  at  nine,  after  witnessing 
the  trial.  She  has  been  away  three  days,  staying  two 
with  Lady  Roden;  the  coronation,  she  says,  is  already 
all  the  rage;  she  saw  a  return  of  mounted  infantry 
through  the  Park,  and  on  the  second  day  Hannah  in 
the  dock.  It  has  made  poor  Livie  unwell,  and  I  am 
glad  now  that  I  was  too  ill  to  go.  She  sat  veiled  with 
the  common  crowd  in  a  gallery,  kept  an  opera  glass 
fixed  upon  Hannah,  and  was  struck  by  Hannah's 
'politeness'  to  every  one  —  so  she  says.  It  didn't  last 
long:  Hannah  pleaded  guilty.  She  looked  pale  and 
ill.  A  lot  of  the  poor  in  the  gallery  knew  her,  and 
their  excited  whispering  among  themselves  kept  Olivia 

[257] 


The  Lost  Viol 

from  hearing  much  that  was  said  below.  She  says 
that '  something  about  her  forehead  struck  me  that  day 
as  mulishly  stubborn:  though  it  is  low,  it  would  be 
overbearing,  but  for  the  kindly  twinkling  of  her  eyes, 
like  a  rock  with  bluebells.  When  she  answered  the 
judge  or  the  lawyer  she  seemed  to  be  treating  them 
gently,  like  "patients."  She  made  them  all  chuckle 
by  telling  the  judge  that  "  she  tried  bigamy  because 
she  found  marriage  a  failure."  They  wanted  to  get 
the  address  of  Willie  Dawe,  but  she  wouldn't,  or 
couldn't,  give  it.  What  could  have  made  Hannah 
Wilson  do  such  a  thing  with  such  a  creature  surpasses 
mortal  comprehension!  Yet  somehow  I  couldn't  be- 
lieve, while  looking  at  her,  that  she  had  done  any 
wrong;  at  one  time  I  wanted  to  scream,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  was  witnessing  some  piercing  outrage,  like 
the  rending  of  a  lamb,  the  harming  of  the  harmless, 
the  trampling  of  white  robes  in  the  mud,  and  the 
judgment  of  the  higher  by  the  lower.  The  name 
"Lady"  Wilson  didn't  occur  throughout  the  trial. 
When  a  doctor  from  some  hospital  spoke  of  the  love 
of  the  poor  people  for  her,  Hannah  wept  passionately. 
When  the  judge  was  about  to  deliver  sentence,  she 
stood  up  by  the  side  of  her  wardress,  very  pale  and 
austere,  and  heard  his  long  lecture  with  lowered  eyes. 
The  moment  the  words  "nine  months"  passed  his 
lips  a  howl  of  lamentation  broke  out  a  little  behind 
me  —  a  tall  man  with  his  head  buried  in  his  arms, 
howling  for  all  he  was  worth.     It  was  Willie  Dawe: 

[258] 


The  Lost  Viol 

I  hadn't  noticed  him  before.  I  saw  Hannah's  eyes 
lift  and  rest  steadily  upon  him  as  he  was  being  removed 
in  a  fainting  condition.'  Cutting  of  the  trial  is  on 
third  fly-leaf.  Olivia  brought  down  a  heap  of  papers, 
but  they  all  say  much  the  same  things.  Down  here 
not  a  soul  knew  a  word  about  anything,  till  they  saw 
it  in  the  papers.  Both  the  old  Langlers  are  ill,  and 
all  Orrock,  they  say,  is  mourning.  This  is  great 
Babylon  which  I  have  built,  .  .  ."  etc.,  etc. 


[259] 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

"Last  night,"  continued  the  little  maid  later, 
"another  quarrel  with  Olivia  —  just  because  I  sent 
for  Dr.  Williams  when  my  darling  pricked  his  finger. 
She  said  that  I  am  '  exposing  myself  to  the  ridicule  of 
everybody  by  my  skittish  extravagances  with  the  boy.' 
I  wasn't  really  angry,  for  I  feel  pleased  au  fond  to 
have  them  all  wondering  at  my  adoration  of  him,  but 
by  pretending  to  be  angry  I  became  rather  so.  'I 
don't  seem  to  be  any  longer  mistress  in  my  own  house,' 
I  said. 

"'The  mischief  is  that  you  are  too  much  so,'  she 
answered :  '  what  has  come  over  you  of  late,  Kathleen  ? 
You  didn't  use  to  be  like  this!  That  child  has  turned 
you  into  a  perfect  Donna  Quixote!' 

" '  Even  if  that  be  true,'  I  said, '  isn't  he  sweet  enough 
to  turn  any  little  mother's  head  ? ' 

" '  Let  his  sweetness  be  admitted,'  she  said :  '  but.  that 
is  no  reason,  Kathleen,  why  the  tongue  of  a  lady  should 
be  heard  scolding  through  her  house  every  five  minutes 
in  the  day  for  imaginary  wrongs  done  to  a  brat — ' 

"'You  are  not  to  call  him  a  brat,  Olivia,'  I  said. 

'"Well,  a  pretty  child,  if  you  like,'  she  said,  'but 
still  a  brat,  for  a  brat's  a  brat,  and  what  I  have  said  I 

[201] 


The  Lost  Viol 

stick  to.  I  am  sure  that  everybody  in  the  place  does 
the  very  best  for  the  boy,  and  to  turn  away  old  servants, 
servant  after  servant,  in  your  late  tyrannical  manner 
for  imaginary  wrongs  —  the  merest  figments  of  your 
brain  — ' 

"'I  am  the  best  judge  of  all  that,'  I  said:  'I  wish 
my  boy  to  be  the  one  grand  fact  of  life  for  every  one 
around  me,  and  whoever  fails  in  the  slightest  degree 
to  come  up  to  this  standard  must  go,  that's  all.' 

Well,  go  your  way,'  she  said,  '  but  I  am  only  doing 
my  duty  to  warn  you,  Kathleen,  that  your  conduct  is 
causing  astonishment  and  ridicule;  since  the  end  of 
May  it  becomes  every  day  more  fantastic,  and  I  won't 
hold  my  tongue  any  longer.  Are  there  to  be  no  bounds 
to  your  antics  with  this  boy  ?  I  say  nothing  of  his 
jewel-studded  plate,  his  gold  knife  and  fork,  and  his 
ivory  cot  —  those  may  pass ;  but  tell  me  if  it  is  a  sane 
thing  for  a  young  lady  to  bare  her  virgin  bosom  to  a 
boy  four  years  old,  and  invite  him  with  tears  in  her 
eyes  to  take  his  nourishment  from  her?  Look  here, 
Kathleen  — ' 

" '  Whose  virgin  bosom  ? '  I  cried,  the  blood  rushing 
to  my  head:  'don't  you  dare  insult  my  motherhood, 
Olivia!' 

'"Well,  let  that  pass,'  she  said,  turning  pale  with 
rage,  'let  us  admit  that  you  are  his  mother:  but  why 
publish  it  so  ?  Wasn't  it  agreed  between  us  that  he 
should  pass  as  your  adopted  child  ? ' 

'"Well,  isn't  that  what  I  tell  everybody?' 

[262] 


The  Lost  Viol 

" '  Yes,  you  tell  them  so !  but  you  take  good  care  that 
they  shall  think  you  his  real  mother  by  your  mysterious 
perks,  and  smiles,  and  hints,  and  fantastic  carryings-on ! 
I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing!  A  lady  of  high  birth 
going  out  of  her  way  to  fasten  upon  herself  so  awful  a 
scandal  — ' 

" '  Well,'  I  said,  '  if  they  know  that  I  am  his  mother, 
they  will  also  know  that  Chris  must  be  his  father,  so 
I  don't  care.     I  am  quite  reckless  and  happy  now.' 

"She  cast  up  her  eyes  and  hands  together,  sighing, 
'  But  where  is  this  grotesque  frenzy  to  end  ?  As  to  the 
kittens  and  the  flies  — ' 

" '  I  caught  no  less  than  five  by  one  sweep  of  my  hand 
across  the  table  this  afternoon,'  I  said, '  and  he  screamed 
with  joy!  My  skill  is  now  simply  absolute,  and  he  is 
conscious  that  no  one  in  the  world  can  really  catch 
flies  but  his  mama.' 

"'But  for  a  girl  of  your  attainments,  Kathleen,'  she 
said,  'to  devote  whole  days  to  nothing  but  catching 
flies—' 

"'I  am  not  a  girl,  Olivia,'  I  said,  interrupting  her, 
'I  am  a  matron.  Give  the  devil  his  due,  and  don't 
eat  out  your  poor  heart  with  envy.' 

"'//'  she  cried,  'if  that's  what  it  is  to  be  a  matron, 
let  me  be  as  I  am,  thank  you !  Perhaps  as  an  old  maid 
I  shall  find  some  nobler  occupation  than  catching 
flies.  And  I  don't  know  if  you  think  it  is  a  good  thing 
for  that  boy's  character,  Kathleen,  to  see  half  a  dozen 
kittens  drowned  every  morning  of  his  life  — ' 

[  2G3  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"'They  would  be  fillies  instead  of  kittens/  I  said, 
'  if  that  pleased  my  little  prince.' 

'"The  supply  would  fall  short  of  the  demand,'  she 
said  spitefully,  'and  even  the  kittens,  happily,  won't 
last,  for  lamentation  and  a  voice  in  Orrock  among  cats 
can't  go  much  farther  now — '  In  this  way  she  kept 
on,  harping  on  the  same  old  strings,  and  I  let  her,  for 
I  really  like  it  au  fond.  I  left  her  to  go  to  watch  over 
his  sleep :  he  is  never  quite  so  ravishing  as  when  asleep. 
How  I  love  him!  Sometimes  when  I  first  wake  in  the 
mornings  I  have  a  sharp  pang,  a  feeling  that  he  is  not 
really  my  child,  but  by  noon  I  am  sure  of  him,  and 
toward  evening  I  seem  to  remember  the  night  of  my 
pains  when  I  travailed  and  bore  him;  then  I  rock  my 
love  in  my  arms,  and  pour  the  sweet  tears  over  him, 
and  ask  him  if  he,  too,  remembers.  God  of  Heaven, 
it  is  dear  and  holy  to  be  a  little  mother,  have  mercy 
upon  me,  and  forgive  me. 

"I  frightened  him  out  of  sleep  at  two  this  morning. 
I  had  a  dream  of  some  one  who  is  dead,  and  started 
out  of  it  screaming  and  sobbing  for  mercy;  the  three 
night  lights  were  all  burning:  when  I  looked  around 
there  he  was  sitting  up  in  his  cot,  staring  at  me." 


[264] 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

"Chris  is  back  in  Paris  from  Moscow,"  continued 
the  quaint  maid  in  July,  "  and  makes  the  Opera-concert 
on  Tuesday  the  excuse  for  not  coming  here  at  once. 
He  can't  say  that  I  haven't  been  patient:  but  I  won't 
wait  indefinitely;  I  must  have  a  father  for  my  child, 
and  if  I  can't  get  it  by  hints  and  sighs,  I  must  get  it 
by  cries  and  insistence.  It  is  two  months  now  since 
he  practically  asked  me  to  marry  him  —  that  was  the 
only  construction  I  could  put  upon  his  words;  but  he 
hasn't  once  shown  his  nose  at  Orrock,  in  spite  of  all 
his  promises,  since  he  first  saw  the  child.  His  very 
offer  of  marriage  may  be  mere  words,  words;  not 
written  for  my  sake,  or  even  the  child's,  but  to  satisfy 
his  French  'honor.'  How  I  have  longed  and  waited! 
It  is  scandalous  that  he  doesn't  hunger  to  see  the 
child.  What  would  happen  to  me,  if  I  didn't  see  him 
for  even  an  hour  ?  I  suppose  I  should  go  into  a  fever. 
Promises  are  easily  made,  my  Chris,  but  they  have  no 
weight,  and  weight  is  what  your  little  hunchback  wants 
to  make  her  a  sweet,  humble  little  wife.  There's  one 
of  my  tenants  on  the  further  side  of  Shooen's  Clause 
named  Joan  Speight  who  has  seventeen  sons,  all  with 
straight  backs.     That's  the  way,  even  if  it  racks  you 

[265] 


The  Lost  Viol 

to  pieces.  Let's  be  patriarchal:  'travaillez,  mes 
fcmmesl'  Sir  C.  W.  is  always,,' coming  immediately'; 
but  never  comes!  He  writes  to  ask  his  own  'Viola,' 
'  Will  you  marry  me  ? '  or  something  very  like  it ; '  Viola ' 
says,  '  Yes :  when  ? '  and  he  answers,  '  Immediately,' 
meaning  fifteen  years  hence  perhaps,  if  then;  but  it 
must  be  within  three  months,  for  the  dangers  of  all 
sorts  that  will  threaten  me  the  moment  some  one 
comes  out  of  prison  are  too  awful  to  think  of.  He  still 
thinks  of  his  Hannah,  ca  se  voit;  speaks  in  his  last 
letter  of  'the  extraordinary  boldness  of  her  statement 
that  it  was  she  who  took  the  viol  and  trinkets  out  of 
his  room,  when  she  knew  that  she  did  not  have  them 
to  produce,  and  when  she  knew  that  they  were  believed 
to  have  been  taken  by  a  thief.  If  this  was  lying,  it 
was  that  most  gallant  style  of  lying  which  invites  and 
defies  disbelief.'  'If,' this  was  lying!  Aren't  we  quite 
convinced,  then,  by  her  non-appearance  to  claim  the 
child  ?  What  an  obstinate  infatuation !  He  wants  to 
know  if  'the  poor  woman'  can't  be  found  by  me,  in 
order  to  see  whether  she  is  in  need  of  'financial  aid.' 
He  is  a  divinely  unconscious  old  Chris.  Who  doesn't 
know  that  Hannah  Wilson  is  in  prison  ?  But  not  he: 
his  head  is  up  in  the  clouds.  The  rest  of  his  letter  is 
mostly  talk  about  the  different  schools,  says  that  he  is 
fast  acquiring  a  degenerate  weakness  for  Italian  opera, 
Giardini,  Viotti,  sends  his  last  orchestral  suite  and 
sonata,  longs  to  be  again  accompanied  by  '  Viola,'  and 
says  that  during  the  height  of  the  fuss  and  lamentation 

[266] 


The  Lost  Viol 

in  Paris  at  the  rumor  of  his  death  last  month,  he  was 
abroad  in  the  cafes  with  his  friends,  strangers  speaking 
to  him  of  his  own  death  without  recognizing  him.  I 
shall  write  immediately  after  the  concert.  .  .  ." 

"...  Since  he  knows  nothing  about  what  has  be- 
fallen Hannah,  I  wrote  boldly  yesterday  to  say  that  as 
he  is  causing  me  to  suffer,  and  as  it  can  only  be  Hannah 
who  is  at  the  bottom  of  his  delay,  my  duty  to  my  child 
has  forced  me  to  think  of  having  Hannah  punished  by 
the  law  for  her  bigamy,  unless  something  is  done  for 
my  little  one  quickly.  I  wrote  in  quite  a  new  tone,  and 
I'll  wait  and  see  what  effect  this  has  upon  him.  .  .  ." 

"...  Hannah  has  been  seen  in  prison.  Yesterday 
morning  Olivia  ran  to  me  in  the  rockery  in  a  state  of 
excitement,  saying  that  a  woman  named  Harriet  Davis, 
who  went  to  London  two  years  ago,  got  five  months' 
imprisonment  for  neglect  of  her  children,  and  has  just 
come  home  again,  was  with  Hannah  in  Wandsworth 
prison.  We  at  once  sent  John  packing  to  find  and 
bring  her,  and  in  the  afternoon  had  her  by  stealth  a 
Ions:  time  in  Olivia's  boudoir.  But  she  is  known  as  a 
liar.  She  makes  out  that  Hannah  is  quite  a  privileged 
person:  had  at  first  to  wash  clothes  and  scrub  floors, 
but  now  is  one  of  the  nurses  in  the  prison-infirmary; 
'  almost  fainted '  when  she  saw  Harriet  Davis.  Harriet 
asked  her,  '  Are  you  guilty  ? '  '  Miss  Hannah '  an- 
swered, 'So  they  say.'  One  morning  Miss  Hannah  hid 
the  scrubbing-brush  of  another  prisoner,  'just  for  a 
lark,'  and  the  woman  was  going  to  beat  Miss  Hannah, 

[  267  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

but  didn't  after;  another  morning  there  was  a  riot,  the 
women  were  going  to  set  upon  a  wardress,  if  Miss 
Hannah  hadn't  quieted  them;  for  two  weeks  Miss 
Hannah  was  in  the  infirmary  ill.  Livie  and  I  sat  with 
'our  chins  on  our  hands,  listening  to  the  string  of 
incidents  —  half  lies ;  this  is  the  same  Harriet  Davis 
that  told  Uncle  Peter  about  a  voice  which  said,  'Rest 
I  cannot.'     We  gave  her  some  money.  ..." 

"...  My  threat  to  inform  on  Hannah's  bigamy 
has  drawn  a  quick  reply  from  Chris.  I  knew  that  he 
would  be  horrified  at  me,  but  I  mustn't  mind  that  now. 
My  dream  of  motherhood  may  be  drawing  toward  its 
close,  for  when  she  comes  out  I  shall  have  everything 
to  fear  with  regard  to  the  child  at  least,  if  I  don't  then 
belong  to  his  father.  Suppose  he  ever  were  taken 
from  me  ?  I  should  be  stripped  of  all,  I  should  die  of 
ignominy,  I  should  be  a  maid  again.  I  shall  repeat 
my  threat  to  Chris:  he  seems  aghast  at  the  notion  of 
'  that  poor  woman  being  sent  to  prison,  .  .  .' "  etc.,  etc. 


[268] 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"...  So  I  am  to  be  an  autumn  bride!"  she  wrote 
later,  "  if  I  don't  go  wild  beforehand.  Livie  says  that 
I  am  '  cracked.'  She  cried  on  Thursday  when  she  saw 
him  on  his  little  silver  throne,  looking  every  inch  a 
monarch  with  his  little  scepter  and  crown,  and  his 
purple  and  ermine;  I  insisted  upon  her  courtesying, 
while  I  knelt,  and  she  burst  into  tears,  saying  that  it 
was  a  shame  to  play  such  antics  with  a  poor  child. 
I  don't  care,  I  am  quite  reckless  and  happy,  but  for 
the  physical  pains.  When  I  look  round  my  life  and 
see  to  what  a  height  I  have  brought  it,  I  repeat  to 
myself,  'This  is  great  Babylon  which  I  have  built.' 
Last  night  I  was  amusing  myself  with  reading  over  one 
of  the  old  volumes"  (of  her  diary),  "seven  years  old, 
written  about  that  time  when  Uncle  Peter  was  supposed 
to  be  dying,  and  some  one  ran  over  from  Paris  to  see 
him.  I  was  only  twenty  then,  Chris  was  twenty-two, 
some  one  was  twenty-one,  Hannah  was  nearly  twenty- 
five.  How  time  flies!  and  changes  us.  I  must  have 
been  a  perfect  little  goose;  the  diary  is  full  of  laments 
over  my  sweating  palms  and  agitations  in  Chris's 
presence.  A  shrinking  little  chrysalis  I  was,  as  unequal 
to  the  world  as  'the  rath  primrose';  whatever  was  said 

[  200  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

had  a  pang  in  it  for  me;  if  I  fancied  that  a  tenant  didn't 
treat  me  with  homage  on  the  road,  I  wrote  it  down, 
and  suffered  half  the  night.  Now  I  am  quite  reckless 
and  jolly:  I  want  people  to  look  upon  me  as  a  little 
mama,  and  to  stand  agaze  at  my  adoration  of  my 
boy.  But  Olivia  says  that  it  is  only  another  phase  of 
the  self-same  sickness,  and  that  '  Dir  kannst  du  nicht 
entfliehen.'  I  don't  know  why  she  is  so  surly  lately; 
she  forgets  that,  in  reality,  she  is  only  part  of  my 
establishment.  At  any  rate,  I  have  changed,  I  am  no 
longer  a  muling  failure,  I  have  accomplished  something, 
everything;  with  these  hands  I  have  built  great  Babylon, 
and  there's  a  trick  in  Nature  that  was  in  league  all  the 
time  with  little  me.  Seven  years  ago  my  highest  ambi- 
tion was  to  see  some  one  take  Chris  from  Hannah,  and 
now,  in  a  month's  time,  Chris  is  to  be  my  own  — 
husband!  The  quickness  of  the  hand  deceives  the 
eye!  Pick  up  your  skirts,  girls,  and  dance  till  you 
drop!  There's  a  white  dress  making,  and  making  for 
me;  there's  a  plain  gold  ring  forged  somewhere,  which 
is  for  me:  its  maker  little  thought,  as  he  heated  and 
polished  it,  that  it  was  for  me:  but  God  thought,  '  That 
one  is  for  the  little  one.'  Pity  the  pains  are  getting  so 
bad:  seven  years  ago  I  didn't  have  my  left  leg  all  in 
cotton  wool.  ..." 

"...  Everything  isn't  quite  smooth.  Now  comes 
the  news  that  Willie  Dawe  tried  to  hang  himself  on 
the  third  evening  after  Hannah's  trial,  but  was  found 
and  cut  down  just  in  time.     While  I  was  wondering 

[270] 


The  Lost  Viol 

what  had  become  of  him,  he  was  in  hospital,  and  now, 
they  say,  is  weak  in  the  head.  Why  should  he  have 
hanged  himself,  when  he  had  plenty  of  money  to  go 
on  with?  Heaven  grant  that  he  doesn't  let  out  any- 
thing to  anybody  about  me.  Olivia  says  that  his 
mother  has  written  to  him  to  come  down,  and  I  have 
no  means  to  prevent  his  coming;  but,  if  he  dares  blab 
anything,  I  shall  have  him  charged  and  sent  to  Nor- 
wich. ..." 

"...  I  always  love  this  time  of  the  year;  the  leaves 
are  beginning  to  fall  fast,  and  sometimes  in  the  early 
mornings  there  are  meanings  in  the  winds  with  which 
I  am  so  akin,  that  I  could  faint  for  bliss.  I  wonder  if 
any  other  soul  is  ever  so  pierced  to  the  very  quick  by 
their  bleakness  ?  It  isn't  over  this  earth  alone  that 
they  sorrow  to  me,  but  over  the  despondence  of  moons 
that  no  glass  ever  spied.  Like  me  they  are  forlorn, 
and  they  bear  me  echoes  of  wailings  from  worlds  where 
I,  too,  once  beat  the  breast  by  chill  waters.  It  is  when 
I  hear  them,  and  when  I  am  weeping  over  my  boy, 
that  I  am  truly  religious,  truly  pure  in  heart,  and  I 
worship,  understanding  that  some  day  all  my  crooked- 
ness will  surely  be  blotted  out,  and  my  sins  will  be 
remembered  against  me  no  more  forever.  ..." 

"...  There  have  been  two  grand  storms  within 
three  weeks,  and  from  eveiywhere  come  lamentations 
of  boats  and  houses  and  bits  of  coast-wall  being  washed 
away.  Th;s  is  a  tempestuous,  wet  place,  and  somehow 
the  presence  of  the  sea  is  in  all  our  lives.     Some  day 

[271] 


The  Lost  Viol 

perhaps  the  descendants  of  the  hunchback  won't  have 
any  Hill  to  call  their  own.     But  they  say  that  the  salt 
in  the  air  is  good  for  rheumatism,  though  I  have  had 
sea-baths  all  the  summer,  and  am  worse  than  ever  for 
it.     Dr.  Williams  says  that  is  the  continual  crabs  and 
lobsters,  but  it  is  no  good,  I  can't  give  them  up:  I  have 
tried,  but  'Set  a  hunch  to  pick  a  hunch,'  as  ex-cook 
Bassett  is  said  to  have  remarked.     I  am  not  going  to 
break  any  habits  now,  I  am  twenty-seven,  and  perhaps 
in  any  case  shan't  live  very  long.     'Let  us  tax  and 
stint  and  feed  ourselves  according  to  habit,'  says  Mon- 
taigne, and  not  try  to  be  heroes.     I  am  frail  in  every 
part,  but  do  very  well  as  I  am  without  athletics.     There 
was  a  man  whom  the  Spanish  Inquisition  condemned 
to  sleep  on  blunt  spikes  for  fifteen  years,  and  afterwards 
he  couldn't  sleep  on  anything  else.     To  the  average 
dormant  person  the  familiar  is  better  than  the  best, 
and  so  every  one  likes  himself  as  he  is.     If  I  could 
only  get  the  rheumatism  and  indigestion  a  little  better 
before  the  wedding,  I  shouldn't  mind.     Ever  since  that 
last  storm  the  pains  have  been  sharper.     That  was  an 
awful   night  for  me.     I   can   almost  say   that   I   saw 
Uncle  Peter,  though  I  can't  swear  that  I  was  awake: 
but,  if  it  was  a  dream,  how  vivid.     I  haven't  written 
the  details,  and  shan't  now,  it  would  make  me  ill.     I 
woke  up  every  one  in   the  house;  many  a  stronger 
woman    would    have    died.     They    say    that    another 
storm  is  predicted  by  the  coastguard  next  week.  ..." 
",  .  .1  have  advised  Chris  not  to  trouble  himself 

[272] 


The  Lost  Viol 

about  any  divorce  from  Hannah,  however  slight  the 
trouble,  since  there  is  a  law  that  after  seven  years  of 
such  a  marriage  one  is  free.  He  has  never  come 
across  her,  except  that  evening  when  she  went  to  tell 
him  about  the  loss  of  the  child,  and  that  doesn't  count: 
only  he  and  I  know  of  it;  it  would  be  a  far-fetched  sort 
of  law  that  could  regard  him  as  in  any  sense  her  hus- 
band now.  He  wishes,  apparently,  to  be  very  punc- 
tilious, and  is  quite  'on  his  honor.'  But  what  his 
'own  friend'  wants  is  his  solid  presence,  and  no  more 
talk  and  delays.  He  is  to  be  at  Orrock,  positively,  on 
the  5th;  on  the  1st  Olivia  and  I  go  to  London  for  two 
days  to  see  after  everything,  and  will  be  back  by  the 
4th  to  receive  him;  the  wedding  on  the  10th;  Hannah 
comes  out  on  the  27th,  when  I  shall  be  in  Italy.  I 
spent  the  whole  of  this  morning  with  Mr.  Bretherton, 
talking  of  the  two  estates,  and  the  settlement.  ..." 

"...  A  long  talk  this  morning "  (seven  days  later) 
"  with  Chris  in  Orrock  Park,  and  I  am  far  from  flattered, 
in  spite  of  his  anxiety  to  be  polite.  He  forgets  that  I 
have  a  pair  of  sharp  eyes,  and  can  read  him  like  a 
book.  I  can  see  that  his  main  motive  for  marrying 
me  in  a  hurry  isn't  love  for  me,  nor  even  his  'honor' 
toward  the  little  mother  of  his  child,  but  my  repeated 
threats  to  have  '  that  poor  woman '  put  into  prison  for 
her  bigamy.  If  he  only  knew  that  I  have  done  it,  he 
wouldn't  like  me,  I'm  afraid.  He  may  be  making  as 
great  a  sacrifice  for  Hannah  now,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  as  she  made  for  him  when  she  married  Willie 

[273] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Dawe.  I  wonder  if  it  is  so  ?  If  he  really  doesn't  love 
me  at  all,  there's  plenty  of  poison  in  the  house:  I  can 
take  back  the  crooked  back  to  Him  that  made  it: 
perhaps  He  will  comfort  me  and  forgive  me  when  no 
one  else  will.  Anyway  I  feel  that  I  shan't  live  long  to 
strut  in  my  Babylon;  there's  a  pretty  constant  feeling 
now  of  something  hanging  over  me,  the  fall  of  which 
will  crush  me.  Some  times  in  the  mornings  I  can  only 
lift  my  head  by  an  effort,  I  am  so  weak  and  weary; 
and  there's  a  crack  running  right  through  me  somehow, 
which  any  shock  might  widen,  and  not  one  stone 
would  be  left  on  another.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as 
well.  C.  W.,  too,  is  strangely  grave:  at  some  moments 
he  looks  quite  broken-down  and  lost;  then  he  will  take 
my  arm  jauntily,  and  try  to  be  boyish.  If  he  doesn't 
love  me  really,  I  am  sorry  for  him.  Perhaps  people 
who  are  not  so  accustomed  to  me  as  I  am  to  myself 
see  me  in  an  uglier  light:  it  may  be  so:  may  thunder 
crush  me,  if  it  is !  He  has  only  kissed  me  on  the  cheeks, 
everything  strictly  French  so  far,  and  this  forenoon  in 
the  park  he  '  good  Godded '  me  about  Hannah.  '  It  is 
amazing,'  he  said,  'that  a  thought  of  harming  that 
unfortunate  woman  could  ever  have  entered  your 
mind!'  I  answered,  'I  believed  that  she  was  injuring 
me  and  my  boy,  Chris.'  'But  good  God!'  he  cried, 
'why  do  you  seek  to  madden  me?  I  haven't  seen  or 
heard  of  the  woman  since  that  night  in  my  London 
chambers!  And,  in  any  case,  where  is  your  regard 
for  me  to  think  of  casting  into  the  common  prison  a 

[274] 


The  Lost  Viol 

woman  whom  you  know  that  I  have  already  wronged 
and  driven  to  despair?' 

" '  But  don't  be  angry  with  me,  Chris,'  I  said,  '  I  am 
not  very  well.  I  know  that  I  have  many  faults,  and 
have  done  many,  many  wrong  things,  but  they  have 
all  been  done  through  love  of  you  — ' 

" '  Well,  well,'  he  said,  patting  me. 

" '  Will  you  always  remember  that  ? '  I  said  — 
'through  love  of  you.  Our  parents  made  a  compact 
before  I  was  born  that  we  should  marry,  and  though 
some  imp  must  have  been  grinning  behind  their  backs, 
the  compact  somehow  embodied  itself  with  my  embryo 
being.  I  worship  you,  Chris,  and  ask  you  to  be  kind 
to  me  while  I  live.     I  know  that  you  don't  love  me  — ' 

'"Mmm,  I  do,  I  do,'  he  said. 

'"Then,  will  you  let  me  be  with  you  after  we  are 
married  ? ' 

"'With  me!     Where?'  he  asked,  starting. 

"'Anywhere  —  wherever  you  are.  Promise  me  at 
least  that  for  six  months  of  the  year  Chrisie  and  I  may 
live  with  you.  Look,  he  is  bringing  you  flowers'  — 
Chrisie  was  racing  back  to  us  with  a  lot  of  harebells 
and  bachelor-buttons;  his  father  patted  his  back 
absently,  not  thinking  of  him,  saying,  'I  am  such  a 
wanderer:  if  you  came  with  me,  you  would  be  wretched, 
and  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  play,  already  I  abhor  — ' 

" '  On  my  account  ? '  I  asked  quickly. 

" '  Oh,  no,  never  think  that,  my  own  friend,  just  the 
contrary,'  he  said.     '  But  perhaps,  if  you  will  consider 

[275] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Orrock  your  home,  then  I  could  pay  you  long  and 
frequent  visits  — ' 

'Chris,  you  mean  to  be  the  death  of  me,  I  can 
see,'  I  said. 

"'Heavens!'  he  breathed,  throwing  up  his  eyes: 
'then,  be  with  me,  be  with  me.' 

" '  Is  that  a  promise  ? ' 

'"Yes,  a  promise.' 
'It  mayn't  be  for  long,  Chris:  I  feel  so  frail  lately.' 

" '  Mmm '  —  with  a  pat. 
'  My  presence  won't  be  irksome  to  you,  Chris  ? ' 

"'Not  at  all.' 
'And  may  I  accompany  you  sometimes,  Chris?' 

"'Not  in  public?' 

"'If  I  may.  You  know,  Chris,  that  no  one  can 
really  accompany  you  but  me.' 

'"That's  only  the  truth.     You  shall  accompany  me.' 

"'And  Chris,  will  you  love  me  just  a  little  as  your 
own  little  —  Oh,  pray !  say  yes !  I  know  that  I  don't 
deserve  it,  but  the  great  God  makes  his  sun  to  shine 
upon  the  just  and  upon  the  unjust.' 

'I  shall  certainly  love  you,'  he  said  with  apparent 
sincerity,  '  and  at  least  take  better  care  of  you  than  of 
the  first  one.'  Just  then  Chrisie  fell  flat  in  moss  twenty 
yards  ahead,  and  I  ran  down  the  avenue  to  him;  when 
I  next  looked  back  there  was  Chris  sitting  on  a  tree- 
trunk,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  arms.  I  don't  know 
why  he  was  like  that  on  a  sudden.   ..." 

"...  To-morrow  evening  is  for  the  settlement  of 

[276] 


The  Lost  Viol 

the  estates  and  signing  the  marriage-documents.  C.  W., 
like  all  Frenchmen,  is  a  stickler  for  form  and  nicety  in 
money-matters,  and  I  am  instructed  to  invite  friends 
to  'assist'  at  the  ceremony,  French-fashion:  so  it  will 
be  rather  a  function.  Mr.  Bretherton  writes  that 
everything  is  drawn  up  and  ready,  and  Olivia  is  in  a 
state  of  palish  excitement.  So  much  for  Babylon,  and 
my  little  star.  But  one  star  isn't  enough  to  make  one 
happy  somehow:  perhaps  one  should  be  in  league  with 
all  the  stars.     God  help  me.  ..."  etc.,  etc. 


[277] 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

On  the  seventh  of  that  month  (November),  about 
nine  in  the  evening,  while  the  marriage  documents  were 
being  read  before  some  dozen  people  in  the  Hall  library, 
Hannah,  for  her  part,  was  sitting  in  the  churchyard  a 
mile  away.  On  account  of  good  behavior  in  her  late 
trouble  she  had  been  let  out  a  little  before  the  term  of 
her  sentence,  had  now  been  at  large  over  twenty-four 
hours,  and,  as  the  people  in  London  had  not  been  able 
to  give  her  any  news  of  her  child,  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  go  down  to  Orrock,  to  face  old  Mr.  Lang- 
ler,  and  to  get  some  money  for  the  further  search, 
since  her  funds  had  run  low.  But,  on  going  down,  she 
shirked  the  shame  of  showing  herself,  shirked  the 
questions,  the  eyes  of  awe  and  reproach,  and  went 
first  to  her  old  spot  in  St.  Peter's  churchyard,  to  rest 
and  talk  with  herself. 

She  was  there  from  half-past  seven  to  nine,  sitting 
in  wet  grass,  with  squalls  of  drizzle  beating  upon  her, 
for  it  was  a  rough  night.  She  habitually  treated  in 
this  amazingly  reckless  way  that  "health"  which  she 
considered  divine:  and,  indeed,  she  was  hardly  ever 
unwell.  That  night,  however,  a  dark  fit  was  upon  her 
—  partly  a  reaction  from  her  flush  of  freedom  the  day 

[279] 


The  Lost  Viol 

before,  partly  a  result  of  seeing  round  her  the  wreck  of 
her  goods.  Her  child  was  gone,  her  good  name,  her 
husband.  She  felt  that  to  rebuild  herself  in  England 
now  was  a  hopeless  matter,  and  meant  when  the  child 
should  be  found,  if  ever,  to  fly  to  America,  where  she 
had  some  "friends."  In  this  state  of  her  affairs,  she 
came  to  the  Orrock  grave  to  strew  no  flowers  upon  it 
as  erewhile,  but  really  to  seek  a  sort  of  comfort  from 
the  dead,  since  among  the  living  there  was  none.  She 
made  herself  fancy  that  if  Sir  Peter  were  living,  he,  at 
least,  would  know  her,  would  trust  her  soul,  when  her 
own  father,  mother,  and  every  one  were  strangers  to 
her.  In  her  heart  she  called  the  old  baronet  "  father," 
little  dreaming  how  strictly  true  this  was;  she  thought 
of  the  tender  shyness  with  which  he  used  to  whisper 
at  her  ear,  "Uglier  than  ever,  I  see,"  and  this  made 
her  smile  and  moan:  now,  perhaps,  hovering  about 
her  in  the  dark,  or  streaming  upon  the  north  wind's 
ravings,  his  spirit  mourned  of  her,  "Prettier  than 
ever."  She  was  somehow  sure  of  his  nearness  and  of 
his  sympathy,  and  thinking  still  of  him,  recalling  his 
ways  and  words,  tears  of  love  wet  her  eyes. 

But  even  the  old  grave  failed  her  that  night:  "East 
railings,"  she  wrote  of  it,  "standing  on  nothing,  gone 
askew,  only  held  up  by  horizontal  bar;  east  half  of 
slab  hanging  over  nothing.  Made  me  feel  really 
homeless,  a  stranger,  as  if  nothing  solid  was  left.  The 
whole  coast  transformed:  old  St.  Cuthbert's  tower 
perhaps  five  feet  nearer  cliff-edge,  three  yards  gone 

[280] 


The  Lost   Viol 

from  east  end  of  Mailing's  Lane,  sea  roaring  in  great 
breakers   under  spots   where   I   have   planted   flowers 
when  a  girl;  enough  to  make  the  geese  and  cows  cry: 
hungry   wash   of   the   sea   ever   ravening   with   rough 
shout  to  wreck  and  bereave.     '  Oh,  earth,  what  changes 
hast  thou  seen!'     Must  have  been  some  awful  storms 
while  in  prison:  fifteen  of  graves  clean  gone  from  St. 
Peter's ;  no  longer  the  same  place.     '  Here  have  we  no 
continuing  city';  'all  flows,'  changes;  but  thought  to 
myself,  '  the  fleece  of  Gideon  at  least  remains  dry,' 
the    mind    'invincible':    'therefore    will    not    we    fear 
though  the  earth  be  removed,  and  though  the  moun- 
tains be  carried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea.'     Things 
were  pretty  cruel,  none  on  earth  that  I  could  really 
tell  my  heart  to,  the  very  night  unpitiful,  not  a  star, 
moon,  nor  light  over  sea,  gusts  coming  shaky  from 
northeast  like  flapping  sails,   no  one  in  wide  world, 
only  me,  the  lighthouse,  and  the  dead,  old  landmarks 
gone;  but  still  something  left  inside,  one  last  Gibraltar, 
and  good   old  whisper,   'The  mountains  shall  depart 
and  the  hills  be  removed,  but  My  kindness  shall  not 
depart  from  thee,  neither  shall  the  covenant  of  My 
peace  be   removed.'     Through   it   all,  felt   strong  cu- 
riosity to  see  his  coffin,  if  visible;  went  to  edge  at  last, 
and,  clinging  underneath  to  railings,  poked  head  up 
between  railings  and  slab,  climbed  on  to  slab,  and  lay 
on  it,  gazing  down  over  east  edge.     Eyes  could  just 
guess  out  either  three  or  four  coffin-ends,  five  to  seven 
feet  down.     Hoped  eyes  would  get  used  to  darkness, 

[281  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

and  lay  on  face  perhaps  twenty  minutes,  but  still 
couldn't  make  out  anything.  Lighthouse  beam  in 
passing  didn't  lighten  even  a  little  the  murk  under 
there,  and  at  last  something  creepy  said,  'Suppose 
slab  tips  over  with  you,'  so  was  off  quicker  than  I 
went  on. 

But  no  sooner  out  in  the  grass  again,  than  I  felt 
myself  bested,  and  thought  of  climbing  down  to  see; 
the  cliff-face  now  lay  about  half  way  between  flat  and 
steep  up  above,  then  twenty-five  feet  down  came  a 
ledge,  then  another,  after  which  cliff-face  went  down 
steep;  could  see  ledges  and  state  of  cliff -face  during 
passage  of  lighthouse  beam:  cliff -face  all  white,  rough 
chalk,  not  polished  and  hard  and  discolored  as  it  soon 
becomes,  so  landslip  couldn't  have  taken  place  more 
than  a  week  or  two  before;  a  Y-shaped  cake  had  been 
taken  off  cliff  from  top  to  bottom,  leaving  plenty  of 
rough  footway  up  above.  Peered  along  edge,  till  I 
came  to  likely  spot  about  ten  feet  south  of  Orrock 
grave;  as  I  stood  there,  something  said,  'Better  not  try 
it':  wouldn't  listen:  but  the  moment  foot  was  over 
edge,  my  heart  leapt  into  my  mouth;  if  I  hadn't  been 
a  coward  should  have  turned  back,  but  afraid  of  being 
called  a  coward  by  myself,  so  went  on  —  a  coward 
either  way.  Crept  northward  and  downward  toward 
Orrock  coffins,  wary  step  by  wary  step,  clinging  on 
with  hands,  wind  blowing  clothes  about,  white  as  a 
sheet,  if  truth  were  known,  and  every  instant  getting 
more  miserably  jumpy.    '  Go  back!'  said  reason  to  will; 

[282] 


The  Lost  Viol 

no  go:  will  deaf  and  blind.  In  daytime  should  have 
felt  quite  safe,  have  done  worse  bits  in  Switzerland, 
but  up  another  street  at  dark  night  —  with  fifty  feet 
below.  Was  actually  among  Orroek  coffins  when  foot 
slipped  —  or  I  fancied  so,  and  utterly  lost  nerve ;  once 
a  woman  always  a  woman :  caught  wildly  at  coffin  just 
above  head,  caught  something,  didn't  quite  know  what, 
something  pretty  rotten  which  gave  way,  and  next 
moment  had  said  my  prayers  and  gone  tumbling. 
Whole  rain  of  things  seemed  to  come  with  me  —  had 
that  fancy  —  like  a  thousand  of  bricks.  Had  caught 
inside  coffin-rim,  where  lid  may  have  subsided,  or  else 
by  a  handle,  and  so  broken  coffin.  Didn't  fall  far, 
perhaps  twelve,  fifteen  feet,  to  first  ledge,  and  there 
lay  feeling  wronged,  like  child  with  cut  finger,  my 
hands  bruised,  face  hot,  dignity  outraged;  think  I  lost 
consciousness  for  some  minutes,  not  sure.  Ledge  five 
feet  wide,  happily  lower  at  inner  edge  than  outer. 
Sat  wondering  how  on  earth  I  was  to  get  back  up, 
absolutely  hadn't  the  nerve  to  climb;  put  out  my  hand 
to  collect  my  dress,  and  touched  tibia  of  leg  —  not  yet 
bare!  caught  back  hand  and  touched  something  cold 
lying  on  dress  —  man's  watch  and  chain:  seemed  to 
be  the  one  I  had  taken  from  Chris;  I  felt  it  all  over, 
it  certainly  seemed  to  be  no  other;  thought  I  must  be 
stunned  and  dreaming,  but  the  same  twisted  links, 
elephant  guard,  covered  watch  —  the  very  same;  was 
pretty  scared:  even  in  blessing,  the  Hand  of  God 
terrible;  never  was  afraid  of  ghosts  in  my  life,  but  was 

[  283  1 


The  Lost  Viol 

then,  badly;  seemed  to  stand  face  to  face  with  that 
which  cannot  be  named  for  excessive  greatness,  and 
the  wind  spoke  monstrously  to  me  with  human  tongue; 
didn't  see  Sir  Peter,  but  nearly  did,  waited,  with  my 
hair  rising,  on  the  very  point  of  seeing  him,  breathing 
his  name;  at  same  time  lighthouse-beam  swept  over 
shiny  thing  lying  on  ledge  two  yards  away,  the  viol: 
couldn't  doubt  it  the  same  —  no  neck,  elaborate  deco- 
ration all  over  back  and  belly,  sloping  shoulders, 
straight  sound-holes  long  way  from  purfling  —  the  very 
same.  Understood  that  they  had  been  buried  with 
Sir  Peter:  and  how  awful!  couldn't  help  crying  after 
I  had  got  over  ungrateful  terrors.  Looked  about  for 
cardboard  box  and  ring  and  brush,  but  couldn't  find: 
box  may  have  got  blown  away. 

"No  difficulty  now  about  getting  back  up  to  top: 
for  state  of  the  mind  everything,  and  he  that  has  faith, 
i.  e.,  tip-top  spirits  inside,  shall  say  to  mountain,  '  Be 
thou  removed.'  Couldn't  very  well  take  up  viol  with 
me,  started  up  without,  but  after  some  feet  up,  went 
back,  tore  petticoat  into  strips,  tied  string  round  side- 
grooves,  and  climbed  with  end  of  string  between  teeth. 
Got  up  all  right  to  coffins,  stopped  and  had  a  look, 
heart  beating  foolishly  again,  one  of  them  all  broken, 
and  —  no  tibias !  Climbed  twelve  more  feet  to  top 
and  drew  up  viol,  which  came  bumping  vocally,  that 
old  salt-seasoned  pine  belly  and  chrysolite  varnish  still 
sound  as  a  nut.  Didn't  stop  to  worry  about  how  it 
had  got  into  coffin :  a  haste  to  lay  it  before  Chris  within 

[284] 


The  Lost  Viol 

forty-eight  hours  had  me ;  thought  he  was  on  Continent, 
and  made  up  my  mind  not  to  show  face  at  Woodside, 
but  to  go  and  ask  Bentley  at  Hall  where  he  was,  and 
start  off  straight  to  him.  Wanted  to  run,  but  wouldn't; 
walked  slowly.  Heard  something  knocking  about  in- 
side viol,  stopped  under  lamp  in  Woodside  Lane,  and 
picked  out  through  sound-holes  with  hatpin  two  folded 
parchments,  copies  of  each  other  apparently;  saw  my 
name  all  about;  they  seemed  to  be  will  of  Sir  Peter: 
understood  that  in  that  case  I  must  have  offended 
some  one,  though  always  thought  every  one  sweet  on 
me,  the  old  self-conceit  wrong  again.  Went  on  past 
Woodside,  Rover  howling  piteously  after  me  (chained 
up) ;  might  have  stopped,  for  not  a  soul  anywhere  about, 
but  didn't;  passed  down  and  on  to  Brookend,  where  I 
washed  hands,  then  through  Orrock  gates,  and  by 
south  side  made  for  second  inner  courtyard,  hoping  to 
meet  either  Bentley  or  Mrs.  Dene  on  the  quiet,  when 
I  saw  library  lighted  up.  ..."  etc.,  etc. 


[285] 


CHAPTER  XXX 

On  a  sudden  Hannah,  with  a  wet  face  and  looking 
bedraggled,  was  standing  in  a  corner  of  the  library 
with  the  group  of  people  who  were  taking  part  in  the 
rite  of  settlement;  Chris  and  Kathleen  were  seated  at 
opposite  sides  of  a  table,  the  others  seated  round  it. 
Though  six  crowds  of  candles  hung  in  a  row  from  the 
ceiling,  their  light  was  somehow  local  about  the  chan- 
deliers, and  still  left  a  gloom  in  that  old  hall;  extra 
candles  in  smooth  old  candlesticks  were  on  the  table, 
which  reflected  their  light  in  its  surface;  the  little 
crowd  of  people  who  were  gathered  round  the  table 
with  the  candlesticks  on  it  looked  lonely  and  local  in 
the  bigness  of  the  place;  a  butler  and  a  footman  in 
yellow  stockings  hung  mutely  upon  the  scene;  all  were 
more  or  less  mute  and  stiff;  Chris  Wilson  had  the  smile 
of  a  saint  who  is  being  led  to  the  stake. 

"  I  didn't  know  that  visitors  were  here,"  said  Hannah 
to  him,  "I  saw  your  back  through  the  little  courtyard 
door—" 

Chris  leapt  to  his  feet  with  the  whisper,  "What  is 
it?" 

"I'll  wait  till  another  time,"  said  Hannah:  "good 
evening,  Kathleen,  how  are  you,  Mrs.  Horsnel — ?" 

[287] 


The  Lost  Viol 

She  was  stopped  by  Chris  pointing  and  crying  out, 
"  But  isn't  that  my  viol  di  Gamba  ? " 

"Yes,  then,"  said  Hannah,  "you  may  as  well  hear 
now  before  everybody.  Some  one  in  the  Hall  wished 
me  ill  six  years  ago,  and  hid  the  things  which  I  took 
from  your  rooms.  Here  is  the  watch  and  chain,  too. 
Can't  find  the  ring  and  nail-brush.  They  were  buried 
in  Sir  Peter's  coffin,  and  the  sea  has  rendered  them 
back  to  me,  the  hammers  of  God,  pounding  doggedly 
— .  Ah,  don't  mind  my  weakness  —  it  seems  a  pretty 
dreadful  thing,  and  I'm  only  just  out  of  prison  —  " 

"Prison!"  breathed  Chris,  his  mind  flitting  help- 
lessly from  one  astonishment  to  another. 

"  Oh,  you  didn't  know,"  said  Hannah. 

"  You  out  of  prison  ? "  cried  Chris  with  a  flush  of 
anger  on  his  brow,  "  then,  why  am  I  going  through  — 
What  dreadful  thing  is  this,  my  friends  ?  " 

"Nothing  very  dreadful  about  it,"  said  Hannah, 
drying  her  eyes,  with  a  broken  laugh :  "  everything  nice 
and  clean,  and  all  found.  Nothing  is  dreadful,  except 
—  one  thing.  But  how  came  you  not  to  know,  when 
everybody  must  know?" 

"  I  seem  to  have  been  the  victim  of  some  conspiracy ! 
You  must  all  be  seeking  to  drive  me  mad!  Bentley, 
why  have  I  never  been  told  that  this  lady  was  in  such 
a  case  r 

"First  of  all,  Sir  Chris,"  said  old  Bentley,  "I  as- 
sumed that  you  knew;  secondly,  I  had  instructions  not 
to  grieve  you  by  referring  to  the  matter." 

[288] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"  Instructions !     But  from  whom  ? " 

"Oh,  don't  trouble  about  that  now,"  said  Hannah. 
"  Look  here ;  I  found  these  two  parchments  inside  the 
viol—" 

A  guttural  voice  stopped  her  with  the  words,  "It  is 
all  a  lie" 

All  eyes  had  been  mostly  fixed  upon  Hannah,  but 
now  turned  to  Kathleen,  decked  that  night  in  many 
jewels  and  flowers;  they  beheld  her  standing  up, 
leaning  forward,  her  right  palm  pressed  upon  the  table, 
her  left  pressed  against  her  left  temple,  as  though  there 
was  pain  there,  her  eyes  staring  toward  Hannah,  yet 
not  somehow  at  Hannah,  but  at  something,  it  seemed, 
beyond;  when  she  said  in  that  strange,  low  voice,  "It 
is  all  a  lie,"  every  one  was  hushed:  two  or  three  glanced 
behind  Hannah  to  see  whom  the  little  maid  was  talking 
to;  but  before  any  one  could  say  anything,  Hannah's 
little  boy,  dressed  in  black  velvet  and  gold,  ran  toward 
the  table  out  of  a  recess  where  he  had  been  playing 
with  one  of  his  nurses:  he  was  running  to  Kathleen, 
but  catching  sight  of  Hannah,  stopped  midway  between 
his  two  mamas,  both  of  whom  he  loved  very  much, 
staring  from  one  to  the  other,  while  his  father  looked 
to  see  what  he  would  do,  and  his  mother's  eyes  danced 
merrily  at  him;  and  presently,  as  his  memory  more 
awake,  he  moved  toward  Hannah,  took  hold  of  her 
skirt,  and,  with  his  head  thrown  back,  murmured  half 
to  himself,  "Mama."  Hannah  just  rumpled  his 
hair,  and  pinched  his  cheek.      'There  he  was  again," 

[289] 


The  Lost  Viol 

she  wrote  of  him  afterwards,  "like  a  bad  penny, 
prodigal  son  come  home  weary  of  the  world."  She 
did  not  kiss  him  before  the  crowd. 

"  So,  Chris,"  she  began  to  say,  "  you  had  my  child  —  " 
but  was  interrupted  by  a  cry  from  Chris  and  from  all, 
for  the  little  maid  had  fallen  forward  over  the  table, 
and  at  once  the  rather  stiff  gathering  which  Hannah 
had  startled  became  a  noise  of  tongues.  "She  has 
fainted!"  "It  is  a  stroke!"  "Some  water  quickly!" 
"  Make  room  —  let  me  hold  her  head  back! "  "  Quickly, 
Thomas,  Dr.  Williams ! "  —  every  one  was  moving, 
crowding,  crying  out  something,  while  Chris,  whom 
the  sight  of  suffering  always  pierced  to  the  quick, 
rushed  from  place  to  place,  calling  out  what  no  one 
heard.  In  the  midst  of  it  Hannah  said  to  Mr.  Millings 
and  the  butler,  "You  two  take  her  up,"  and  soon  the 
little  maid  was  being  borne  away;  but  when  she  strug- 
gled midway,  Hannah  took  her  from  the  men  to  her 
shoulder,  and  ran  up  the  lobby-stairs,  the  little  boy 
still  clinging  to  her  skirt,  the  crowd  following.  Above, 
Hannah  went  into  her  old  room  whence  the  viol  and 
box  had  been  stolen,  and  shut  out  every  one,  except 
the  boy  and  Mrs.  Dene,  with  whose  help  she  undid 
Kathleen's  clothes,  wet  her  brow,  lit  a  lamp,  did  all 
that  a  nurse  could,  awaiting  the  doctor,  then  lay  on 
the  bed,  almost  over  the  dying  girl,  whispering  at  one 
moment  of  the  gospel,  and  at  the  next  pleading  with 
Kathleen  to  make  an  effort,  and  not  die.  Presently 
Kathleen,  who  was  breathing  hard  in  the  strait  and 

[290] 


The  Lost  Viol 

article  of  death,  said  in  a  gross  voice,  "1  buried  the 
things."  'Yes,  yes,"  said  Hannah,  "but  make  an 
effort,  will  you  ?  Summon  all  your  powers  — "  "7 
stole  him  from  your  room,"  said  Kathleen  with  fixed 
eyes.  'Yes,"  said  Hannah,  weeping,  "but  Jesus 
cares  nothing  about  that."  Presently  again  Kathleen 
said  in  a  feebler  voice,  "I  was  his  little  mother" 
sinking  every  moment.  '  Were  you  ? "  said  Hannah, 
"and  you  always  shall  be,  I  promise  you  that;  here  he 
is,  if  you  will  only  live;  it  is  a  question  of  will,  just  say, 
'  I  won't  die,  life  is  mine '  —  Oh !  if  I  could  do  it  for 
you!"  "Too  late,"  said  Kathleen,  "my  will  is  weak- 
ened." She  smiled  in  saying  this,  and  laid  her  right 
hand  on  Hannah's  arm:  it  was  like  a  caress.  A 
minute  later  she  reared,  fell  back,  and  the  room  was 
suddenly  still  and  rid  of  her  death-rattle,  as  when  a 
clock  stops,  and  a  death  stillness  is  heard  where  a 
ticking  was  heard.  Hannah's  fingers  shut  down  the 
lids  over  the  sightlessness  of  the  beautiful  eyes. 

As  she  was  getting  down  from  the  bed,  a  tap  was 
heard,  and  the  voice  of  Chris,  calling,  "Mayn't  one 
come  in  ?  " 

'  Tell  him  I'm  gone  to  London,"  whispered  Hannah 
quickly  to  Mrs.  Dene,  catching  up  the  child,  and 
hurrying  away  through  a  side  door. 

'You  can  come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Dene  to  those  at  the 
door:  "the  doctor  will  arrive  too  late." 

Some  of  them  went  in,  and  looked  at  the  still  face 
on  the  bed.     Chris,  who  could  not  stand  such  sights, 

[291  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

just  glanced  round  the  room,  and  asked,  "Where  is 
Lady  Wilson?" 

"She  is  gone  to  London,"  said  Mrs.  Dene. 

Chris  looked  dumfounded.  He  hurried  down  again 
to  the  library,  gazed  at  the  viol  and  watch  and  chain, 
read  the  will,  which  Hannah  had  left  on  the  table. 
No  one  was  there.  For  some  time  he  sat  with  his  head 
buried  in  his  arms.     Then  he  rang  for  old  Bentley. 

"You  know,  Bentley,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "that 
Lady  Wilson  contracted  a  second  marriage?" 

"Yes,  Sir  Chris:  hence  her  imprisonment." 

"  What  on  earth  was  her  reason,  my  friend  ?  " 

" I  have  no  idea:  all  the  world  has  been  amazed  at  it." 

"  Can  you  remember  the  man's  name  ? " 

"  William  Dawe,  Sir  Chris." 

"That's  the  name!  Now,  how  could  this  man  be 
found,  Bentley  ?  " 

"Why,  he  is  at  present  living  with  his  mother  at 
Woodside,  within  a  mile  and  a  half  of  the  Hall,  Sir 
Chris:  he  attempted  suicide  after  the  conviction  of 
Lady  Wilson,  but  was  saved,  though  they  say  he's 
rather  weak  in  the  head  now." 

"Could  you  contrive  to  have  him  here  to-night?" 

"I  think  so,  Sir  Chris." 

"Try,  then,  quickly,  will  you?  Go  yourself  in  a 
trap—" 

Old  Bentley  hobbled  off  at  his  fastest  gait;  and  Chris 
paced  the  library  with  quick  steps,  till  in  half  an  hour 
Willie  Dawe,  looking  scared,  was  before  him. 

[292] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Now,  tell  me,  my  friend,"  said  Chris:  "how  many 
children  do  you  say  that  Lady  Wilson  has  had  ?  " 

"  Only  one,  sir,"  answered  Willie. 

"  But  since  I  am  the  father  of  that  one,  why  did  you 
tell  me  that  you  were  ?  " 

"  Miss  Sheridan  told  me  to  say  so,  sir,  begging  your 
pardon." 

"  Well,  let  that  pass.  But  might  you  ever  have  been 
the  father  of  a  child  of  Lady  Wilson  ?  " 

"Oh,  God  help  us!     Miss  Hannah,  sir?" 

"I  am  sure  that  you  tell  the  truth.  But  why  on 
earth,  then,  did  she  go  through  a  form  of  marriage 
with  you  ? " 

"As  far  as  I  could  make  it  out,  sir,  she  did  it  for 
your  good." 

"  Mine !     But  in  what  possible  way  ?  " 

"She  heard  that  you  were  going  to  get  married  in 
France,  sir,  and  was  afraid  that  you'd  get  taken  up 
for  bigamy,  unless  she  got  married  first." 

At  this  Chris  gazed  at  Willie  Dawe  without  saying 
anything,  then  began  to  pace  the  library  quickly  with 
a  flushed  brow,  till,  dropping  into  a  chair,  he  said  to 
himself,  "But  it  is  pitiful,"  and  buried  away  his  face, 
shedding  tears. 

Presently  he  sprang  up,  saying,  "Bentley!  is  it  true 
that  Lady  Wilson  is  gone  to  London  ? " 

"I  heard  Mrs.  Dene  say  so,  Sir  Chris." 

"  But  what  for,  my  friend  ? " 

"I  have  no  idea,  Sir  Chris." 

[  203  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"  But  where  is  she  to  be  found  ?  You,  Dawe,  do 
you  know  her  address  in  London  ?  " 

Willie  Dawe  gave  the  Guilford  Street  address. 

"Bentley,"  said  Chris,  "tell  Grimani  that  I  start 
for  London  at  once,  and  find  out  for  me  the  hour  of 
the  next  train." 

By  10.15  Chris  and  his  valet  were  in  a  train,  London 
bound. 


[294] 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Near  1  a.  m.  Chris  was  knocking  up  the  house  in 
Guilford  Street;  and  presently  Mrs.  Reid,  the  landlady, 
appeared  in  little  more  than  a  shawl. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  had  to  disturb  you,"  said  Chris, 
"  but  my  business  is  most  urgent.  Is  Lady  Wilson 
here  ?  " 

'There  never  was  any  Lady  Wilson,  sir;  there's  a 
Mrs.—" 

"  It's  the  same.  Is  she  not  here  ?  Don't  say 
no. 

"  She  was  here  earlier  in  the  night,  but  she's  gone  to 
France." 

"France!     What  for?" 

"That's  more  than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  But  it  is  impossible  for  her  to  have  gone  to  France 
to-night,  since  she  was  in  Norfolk  at  9.30." 

'That's  what  she  told  me:  that  she  was  going  to 
France  at  once." 

"And  she  left  no  address?" 

"Yes,  she  did." 

"Ah,  good  news." 

"She  said  that  if  any  one  called,  I  was  to  give  him 
an  address  which  she  wrote." 

[  295  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"  Good  news.     So  that  was  why  she  came  to  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  to  get  me  to  cash  a  check  for  her.  I'll 
run  and  get  the  address." 

Mrs.  Reid  soon  returned  with  a  piece  of  paper  on 
which  was  written,  "Hannah  Wilson,  chez  Madame 
Brault,  14  rue  Boissy  d'Anglas."  Chris,  looking  at 
the  writing,  wondered  why  it  struck  some  fond  chord 
in  his  soul:  it  was  because  it  was  "Viola's"  writing; 
but  he  was  as  when  one  recognizes  a  face,  yet  forgets 
where  one  saw  it. 

'This  will  do  excellently,"  said  he;  "thank  you  very 
much." 

He  then  drove  to  Gray's  Inn;  paced  his  sitting-room 
in  a  heat  for  the  morning  to  come;  slept  for  some  time 
on  a  couch;  and  by  the  first  train  was  off  to  France. 
By  5.30  p.  m.  he  was  on  a  fifth  floor  in  the  rue  Boissy 
d'Anglas,  at  that  door  of  Madame  Brault's  to  which 
the  quaint  maid  had  once  come  from  Chateaubrun, 
in  order  to  tell  Hannah  that  Chris  was  going  to  marry 
Yvonne  de  Pencharry-Strannik. 

"  Is  Madame  Wilson  here  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  pension- 
boy. 

"No,  sir,  not  here." 

"  Is  she  expected  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know,  sir.     I'll  ask." 

It  turned  out  that  Hannah  was  not  even  expected, 
and  Chris  drove  away  in  very  low  spirits.  Stopping 
his  carriage  at  the  first  post-office,  he  sent  a  telegram 
to  one  Rowland- Jones  of  Cavendish  Square,  London, 

[296] 


The  Lost  Viol 

saying,  "Am  in  the  greatest  trouble.     Pray  come  at 
once  to  me  in  rue  de  Rome." 

He  passed  a  wretched  night,  seeing  no  one;  but 
when  he  opened  his  eyes  the  next  morning,  there  was 
Rowland- Jones,  a  naval  officer,  a  man  of  square  brow 
and  strong  eye,  at  his  bedside. 

"  Oh,  thank  Heaven,  here  you  are,  Jack !  How  splen- 
did of  you,"  said  Chris;  "now  I  am  safe";  and  he 
poured  out  the  whole  story  of  Hannah  to  Jack. 

"But  where's  the  trouble?"  asked  Jack:  "how 
could  you  expect  to  find  her  in  Paris  at  five  yesterday 
when  she  couldn't  possibly  have  left  London  the  night 
before  ?  " 

"  I  had  forgotten  that,"  said  Chris  meekly. 

"She's  probably  now  at  the  rue  Boissy  d'Anglas," 
said  Jack:  "heave  your  old  carcase  overboard  that 
dream-ship,  and  let  us  be  there  before  she  goes  out." 

"  Had  any  breakfast  ?  " 

"No,  and  no  particular  appetite:  I  am  in  love  with 
your  wife,  Chris." 

"Isn't  she  splendid!" 

"There  seem  to  be  other  sorts  of  music  than  the 
'octave  and  perfect  cadence,'  Chris." 

"I  shall  have  her  to-day,  Jack!" 

"  Perhaps :  and  she  you  to-morrow.    Look  alive  now." 

"  Grimani!"  shouted  Chris,  hastening  out  of  bed, 
and  before  long  the  two  friends  were  driving  to  the 
rue  Boissy  d'Anglas.  At  Madame  Brault's  Chris 
asked  if  Madame  Wilson  was  come. 

[297] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"  Come  and  gone,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

"Gone!" 

"She  arrived  at  nine  last  night,  sir,  slept  here,  and 
went  away  this  morning  at  half-past  seven." 

"What  is  one  to  do,  my  friend?"  said  Chris,  half 
crying,  to  Rowland-Jones. 

"  Did  she  leave  no  address  ?  "  asked  Rowland- Jones. 

"An  address  in  Normandy,  sir,  for  letters  to  be  sent." 

"Let  us  have  that  address." 

"She  did  not  leave  it  to  be  given  to  any  one,  sir." 

"Oh,  but  we  are  exceptions,"  said  Rowland- Jones: 
and  a  battle  began  between  him  and  the  boy,  ending 
in  a  British  victory  at  a  cost  of  ten  francs.  Hannah 
had  left  the  address,  "Villa  des  Lilas,  St.  Pierre-les- 
Elbeuf,  Normandy." 

"We  must  be  after  her  instantly,"  said  Rowland- 
Jones,  as  they  stepped  into  the  carriage. 

"  But  we  have  had  nothing  to  eat ! "  said  Chris. 

"We  must  eat  train  food." 

"  Let's  stop  and  wire  to  Grimani  to  follow  with  —  " 

"  Ah,  let's  not  mind  about  Grimani ;  we  mustn't  lose 
an  instant:  I'll  tell  you  why  presently." 

But  at  the  Gare  St.  Lazare  they  had  to  wait  ten 
minutes  for  a  train,  and  during  that  time  Chris  wired 
to  Grimani  to  follow  with  the  fiddles  and  mute.  They 
then  set  out. 

"Look  here,  Chris,"  said  Rowland- Jones  over 
breakfast  in  the  train:  "one  of  two  things,  either  she 
doesn't  want  you  —  " 

[  298  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"But  can  any  love  be  like  hers  for  me?"  groaned 
Chris. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  five  years  ago,  Chris ;  five  years  is 
more  than  a  lustrum  in  the  story  of  a  woman's  heart  —  " 

"Oh,  she  despises  women." 

"  But  we  only  despise  what  we  are  in  peril  of  resem- 
bling, lad.  We  worship  the  cow,  but  scorn  the  coward. 
Lady  Wilson,  be  sure,  is  dimly  conscious  of  her  nether 
half,  which  duly  exists.  Let's  be  in  no  doubt  as  to 
her  sex,  Chris.  Either  she  doesn't  want  you,  or  — 
she's  playing  a  game:  quite  possibly  the  latter.  Why 
else  should  she  scurry  through  Normandy,  spend  one 
night  in  Paris,  and  then  be  off  to  Normandy  again  in 
this  way  ?  I'll  bet  that  the  woman  is  only  playing 
tit  for  tat;  you  once  ran  away  from  her,  and  she  says, 
'  Now  it  is  my  turn,  let  him  catch  me,  if  he  really  wants 
me.'  It's  feminine  because  simple.  Women,  of  course 
are  just  so  elementary  as  the  mastodon.  I  hope  that 
I  am  right  in  this  case.  If  so,  our  plan  is  to  catch  her 
quickly  —  to  pounce  upon  her  by  mere  grimness  of 
forced  marches,  or  she'll  lead  us  a  dance  over  half  the 
globe,  until  funds  fail  her." 

"It  is  cruel,  my  friend,"  said  Chris. 

"It  is  anything  but  amusing:  and  it  would  be  no 
use  our  sitting  down  somewhere,  waiting  for  her  to 
relent  and  turn  up  of  her  own  accord.  She  evidently 
means  to  be  won  by  eagerness  and  strategy,  and  will 
never  give  herself.  Ah,  I'd  rather  like  to  have  the 
permanent  handling  of  this  particular  gamy  lass." 

[299] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"My  dear  Jack,  don't  desire  my  wife." 
"Oh,  after  you  Chris:  gamy  and  bigamy  are  unre- 
lated, to  say  nothing  of  trigamy.     We'll  soon  see  what 
Elbeuf  has  in  store  — " 

Ninety  minutes  from  Paris  they  arrived  at  Elbeuf, 
got  a  trap,  and  drove  two  miles  to  St.  Pierre,  to  find 
the  Villa  des  Lilas  on  the  top  of  a  hill  in  the  middle 
of  pine  forests.  But  Hannah  was  not  there.  "  Madame 
Wilson,"  said  the  proprietress,  "after  an  hour's  stay, 
left  for  Gournay-en-Brey,  messieurs  " :  and  to  Gournay- 
en-Brey  the  two  friends  hastened. 


[300] 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

At  the  end  of  three  days'  hunt  after  the  flights  and 
dodges  of  "an  Englishwoman  in  blue  nurse's  costume 
with  a  child,"  Chris  gave  up,  saying: 

"I  can't  Jack  —  I  must  have  a  decent  night's  rest  — 
I  am  utterly  done  for  with  the  damned  trains  —  I  am 
not  made  for  this  kind  of  work  —  "  and  he  threw  himself 
down  wearily.  They  were  now  at  an  old  inn  in  the 
romantic  country  round  Domfront,  in  William-the- 
Conqueror  land.  They  had  just  been  told  that  Hannah 
was  no  longer  at  the  inn.  It  was  about  nine  in  the 
night. 

"  But  doesn't  she  ever  sleep ?  "  asked  Rowland- Jones: 
"she  must  have  the  strength  of  three  mules;  and  that 
boy  with  her  —  how  on  earth  does  she  do  it  ?  She 
must  have  reared  him  on  lioness-milk,  the  splendid 
wretch." 

"I,  for  my  part,  couldn't  keep  it  up  to-night,  my 
friend,"  said  Chris.  "To-morrow  morning  we  will 
resume  operations  — " 

'That's  as  you  like,  Chris,  but  never  say  that  Jack 
Rowland-Jones  was  beaten  by  this  lady.  J  am  pre- 
pared to  go  on  now,  and  to  go  on  till  I  am  no  more; 
give  me  carte  blanche  to  act  alone,  and  I  even  say  that 

[301] 


The  Lost  Viol 

I  shall  have  her  here  within  twenty-four  hours,  if  she 
have  the  cunning  of  the  devil  and  the  vigor  of  a  cart- 
horse." 

"Do  so,  if  you  like,"  said  Chris;  "but  when  are  they 
going  to  bring  us  something  to  eat  —  ?  " 

"  Just  get  up  now,  and  write  me  an  authorization  to 
act  for  you,"  said  Rowland-Jones. 

Chris  got  up,  and  was  in  the  act  of  writing  out  a 
statement  that  Mr.  Rowland-Jones  was  his  friend, 
when  from  behind  the  old  wainscoting  was  heard  the 
call,  "Papa!"  and  he  leapt  to  his  feet. 

"That  your  child's  voice?"  asked  Rowland- Jones 
excitedly. 

"I  think  so!" 

Rowland-Jones  darted  to  one  of  the  two  doors,  only 
to  find  it  locked,  caught  up  his  hat,  and  rushed  out 
of  the  other.  Though  solidly  built  and  of  a  certain 
age,  he  was  nimble,  and  could  run. 

Chris  awaited  his  return  eagerly.  But  he  had  to 
eat  his  meal  alone,  for  Rowland-Jones  did  not  come. 
He  sat,  nodding  with  sleep,  till  one  o'clock,  but  his 
friend  did  not  appear. 

All  the  next  day  Rowland-Jones  did  not  come. 
Chris  was  like  a  lost  man:  had  no  idea  what  to  do 
now,  did  not  know  where  Grimani  was,  had  no  fiddles: 
he  could  only  stroll  about  and  moon,  with  a  forlorn 
movement  of  the  eyebrow. 

And  like  that  first  day  a  second  passed.  Chris  was 
now  in  purgatory.     But  on  the  third  morning  he  re- 

[302] 


The  Lost  Viol 

ceived  three  letters:  one  was  from  his  friend,  and  this 
he  tore  open  first.  It  told  of  Rowland-Jones's  adven- 
tures during  the  past  two  days,  and  of  his  failure  to 
catch  Lady  Wilson.  "I  actually  saw  her,"  he  wrote, 
"at  the  station  at  Bayeux.  As  I  rushed  upon  the 
platform,  I  distinctly  caught  sight  of  her  head  in  the 
velvet  bonnet  looking  out  eagerly  of  a  window  of  the 
train.  She  drew  in  at  sight  of  me.  The  train  was 
already  moving;  and  I  just  had  time  to  pitch  into  the 
nearest  compartment,  without  a  ticket.  I  felt  that  I 
had  her  safe  now :  we  were  in  the  same  train  —  a 
through  train  to  St.  Lo.  Imagine  my  disgust  on 
reaching  St.  Lo.  to  find  that  she  wasn't  in  the  train. 
I  can  only  conclude  that,  as  a  signal  was  against  us  at 
one  place,  she  must  have  leapt  upon  the  metals  on  the 
off-side  when  the  train  stopped.  That's  the  only 
hypothesis:  the  night  was  dark.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  next:  she  is  quite  lost,  ..."  etc. 

Having  read  this  Chris  tore  open  the  second  letter: 
the  handwriting  struck  him  as  familiar:  he  glanced 
first  to  the  bottom,  and  saw  —  "  Viola  " ! 

"  Beloved,"  he  read,  "  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have 
written  you.  There  have  been  reasons,  apart  from 
the  fact  that  it  is  you  who  owe  me  a  letter.  But  let 
there  be  no  more  letter- writing  between  us  henceforth: 
for  the  long-loved  day  will  have  come,  even  as  you 
read  this,  when  Viola  will  be  ready  to  leave  all  to  be 
with  you.  Meet  me,  then,  at  the  Gare  St.  Lazare 
to-morrow  at  2.15  p.  m.,  under  the  clock.     I  shall  have 

[  308  | 


The  Lost  Viol 

in  my  hand  the  gift  beyond  price  which  I  have  so  long 
promised  you.  „Yours  m  ^^ 

"Viola." 

Chris  was  so  accustomed  to  the  notion  of  "Viola" 
knowing  of  his  doings  in  mysterious  ways  that  he  hardly 
asked  himself  how  she  could  know  of  his  stay  in  that 
little  inn.  He  had  again  the  old  thrill  on  reading  her 
letter.  Already  he  had  guessed  that  the  quaint  maid 
could  not  have  been  "Viola,"  and  here  was  the  real 
"Viola,"  the  romantic,  the  high-minded,  about  to  show 
herself,  to  give  herself,  at  last.  He  was  all  at  once 
eager  to  set  out,  curious  to  see  her,  to  see  her  gift. 
But  into  his  eagerness  stole  an  awkward  thought  of 
Hannah.  That  Hannah  might  be  "Viola"  never  en- 
tered his  head;  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  the 
Hannah  whom  he  had  married  at  Orrock  couldn't 
play  the  violin. 

He  was  so  flushed  by  Viola's  letter,  that  he  hardly 
had  the  patience  to  open  the  third  letter:  he  did  so, 
however,  glanced  at  the  bottom,  and  saw  —  "  Hannah  " ! 

Hannah  had  written  this  letter  in  a  round  hand  very 
different  from  "Viola's,"  and  she  said: 

"Dear  Chris: 

"If  you  really  wish  to  see  me,  I  shall  be  on  the 
sea-cliffs  above  Barc-la-Foret  to-morrow  at  2  p.  m. 
sharp.     Barc-la-Foret  is  a  village  two  miles  north  of 

[304] 


The  Lost  Viol 

Coutances.     I  hope  your  friend,  Mr.  Rowland-Jones, 

continues  well  ?  ,,,.  .. 

Your  wife, 

"  Hannah." 

On  reading  this,  Chris  was  in  the  greatest  joy  and 
the  greatest  trouble  at  the  same  time.  One  of  two 
ladies,  he  felt  with  bitterness,  would  wait  in  vain  for 
his  coming  that  day:  for  he  could  not  be  at  the  coast 
to  meet  Hannah  at  2  p.  m.  and  in  Paris  to  meet  "  Viola  " 
at  2.15.  He  must  therefore  choose  between  them  the 
one  that  he  liked  the  best;  and  he  was  so  torn  by  this 
trial,  that,  at  one  time,  pacing  about  the  old  flagstones 
of  the  inn-kitchen,  he  threw  his  arms  up,  crying  out 
that  all  the  world  must  be  in  a  conspiracy  to  drive  him 
mad. 

However,  he  had  to  make  up  his  mind,  so,  having 
sent  a  telegram  to  Rowland-Jones  where  to  join  him, 
by  1  o'clock,  an  hour  too  soon,  he  was  walking  about 
the  sea-cliffs  above  Barc-la-Foret.  In  the  village  itself 
a  fete  was  going  on,  and  very  faint  tones  of  music 
were  caught  by  his  ear  among  the  noises  of  the  wind. 
It  was  a  boisterous  day,  but  very  bright  and  warm  for 
that  time  of  year.  The  ground  up  there  was  hard, 
grown  in  patches  with  grass  and  scrub;  and  pretty  far 
away  down  below  was  the  sea,  a  lovely  sight,  as  it 
were  a  very  great  host  jogging  northeastward  on  a  gay 
pilgrimage.  Chris  had  to  hold  on  his  hat  against  the 
puffs  of  the  wind,  and  presently,  tired  of  its  power 
over  him,  he  lay  with  his  back  to  a  rock,  gazing  up  at 

[305] 


The  Lost  Viol 

the  clouds  and  blue  of  the  sky:  all  was  large-minded 
beyond  wonder  —  the  sky,  the  sea,  the  earth  —  the 
whole  a-move  as  at  some  heyday  and  fair,  and  soon  he 
had  a  feeling  that  the  pillars  of  all  that  Walhalla  tot- 
tered upon  him,  that  the  very  cliff  under  him  was 
adrift  with  the  rest  of  the  dream-stuff  and  pageant; 
his  spirit  seemed  to  swoon  into  that  awful  revelry  of 
the  Most  High;  he  became  It;  and  no  longer  knew  if 
he  was  on  his  head  or  on  his  heels.  Scrambling  in  a 
scare  to  his  feet,  he  walked  about  again  with  the  winds 
in  his  ears,  eager  to  hold  Hannah  in  his  arms,  but 
grieved  to  the  heart,  too,  for  "Viola."  It  was  % 
o'clock.  At  that  hour  "Viola,"  he  thought,  was 
already  perhaps  on  her  way  to  the  Gare  St.  Lazare, 
and  she  would  be  waiting  for  him  in  vain,  with  the 
gift  in  her  hand,  she  who  had  for  two  years  been  his 
spiritual  wife,  to  whom  he  had  sworn  many  oaths  of 
love.  There,  however,  was  Hannah  coming  up  over 
the  bend  of  the  hill,  with  her  legs  expressed,  and  her 
face  held  sideward  to  it,  as  when  a  lady  is  shy,  and 
blushes;  and  in  her  hand  was  the  little  boy's.  Chris 
hurried  to  meet  her. 

"  Oh,  you  did  come,"  she  said  laughing. 

"  Is  it  surprising  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  is,  a  little.     What  about  "  Viola '  ?     Did  you  send 
any  one  to  meet  her?" 

"  I  had  no  one  to  send.     How  on  earth  do  you  know 
about  'Viola'?" 

"I  know  very  well.     If  you  had  gone  to  meet  her 

[306] 


The  Lost  Viol 

instead  of  me,  you  wouldn't  have  met  her,  and  you 
wouldn't  have  seen  me  for  another  year." 

'Why  would  I  not  have  met  her?  Hannah!  Are 
you  'Viola'?" 

"You  would  have  known  it,  if  you  had  known  the 
handwriting  and  mind  of  your  wife,  as  a  man  should. 
As  for  the  gift,  I'm  afraid  it's  a  little  stale  to  you  now, 
but  here  it  is,  such  as  he  is.  See,  I  give  him  a  kiss  to 
give  to  you." 

Chris  took  the  boy  to  his  breast,  saying,  "  I  love  him 
almost  as  much  as  I  worship  his  dear,  dear  mother." 

"  You  do  love  me  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Hannah." 

"Well,  it's  nice  to  hear.  Tell  it  me  once  secretly 
in  my  ear  out  here  on  this  lonely  hill,  so  that  even  our 
child  mayn't  hear,  and  then  I'll  never  forget." 

'With  a  joy  as  deep  as  being,"  whispered  Chris, 
"with  a  most  fresh  and  wonderful  ravishment." 

"  All  right,  that'll  keep  Hannah  going  for  some  years, 
like  everlasting  bread  to  feed  upon  in  the  heart  by 
faith.     Here's  my  hand,  Chris,  '  with  my  heart  in  it.' " 

Chris  took  and  kissed  the  hand,  and  was  about  to 
kiss  more,  when  Hannah  said,  "  ZooA\"  and  he  saw 
Rowland-Jones  and  Grimani  coming  along  the  cliffs 
from  the  north. 

'That  man  and  I  will  remember  each  other,"  said 
Hannah,  with  fun  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"Lady  Wilson,  I  think?"  said  Rowland- Jones  when 
he  came  up. 

[  307  ] 


The  Lost  Viol 

"Mr.  Rowland- Jones ? "  said  Hannah  with  a  grave 
face :  "  surely  we  have  seen  each  other  before  ? " 

"I  have  had  the  honor  of  seeing  part  of  your  lady- 
ship," said  Rowland- Jones  demurely. 

"And  not  the  best  part  either,  I  think!"  cried 
Hannah:  "I  am  strongest  about  the  feet!" 

"  I  kiss  them  with  sincerity,"  said  Rowland- Jones. 

"Well,  no,  don't  take  it  so  abjectly,"  said  Hannah: 
"  it  was  only  a  chance  —  if  I  hadn't  beaten  you,  you 
would  have  beaten  me.  I  happened  to  overhear  you 
in  the  inn  at  Domfront  when  you  vowed  to  Chris  that 
you  would  catch  me  or  perish,  so  thought  to  myself, 
'  Well,  then,  now  for  it.'  But  it  was  only  a  chance  — 
My  husband's  two  best  friends  are  equals,  and  can 
shake  hands." 

A  hearty  handshake  was  exchanged,  and  they  went 
down  the  hill,  till  they  came  to  the  village  fete,  where 
all  kinds  of  merriment  were  on  foot;  and  here  it  came 
into  Chris's  head  to  give  himself  to  Barc-la-Foret  that 
one  day  in  Time,  and  play.  He  had  not  handled  a 
fiddle  for  days,  and  the  spirit  came  upon  him.  He 
caught  his  Bergonzi  from  Grimani,  and  struck  in  with 
the  other  fiddles  on  the  green,  nor  was  it  long  before 
he  alone  was  playing.  Never  was  the  ear  of  Barc-la- 
Foret  tickled  by  the  gospel  of  such  a  mirth;  every  one 
forsook  all  else,  and  crowded  to  jig  round  the  frivolous 
seraph  dropped  down  among  them,  wondering  that 
out  of  that  staid  monsieur  such  riches  of  fun  should 
gush :    there    he    stood  —  stout,    respectable  —  in    his 

[308] 


The  Lost  Viol 

frock-coat  and  top-hat;  the  top-hat,  however,  was 
rather  cocked  back,  one  leg  cocked  forward,  and,  if 
one  looked  closely,  there  was  a  certain  butting  and 
instigation  of  his  brow  which  was  in  the  very  spirit 
of  revel  and  godless  company.  They  all  came  and 
jigged,  Hannah  jigging  with  Rowland-Jones,  till  he 
was  out  of  breath,  then  with  the  village-lads,  then 
with  Rowland-Jones  again,  letting  slip  side-glances  at 
Chris,  her  legs  plying  in  a  stubbornness  of  glee,  an- 
swering still  to  the  unrelenting  spur  of  his  joy,  while 
still  the  brook  of  his  improvization  flowed  on,  and  the 
dancing  grew  ever  larger  and  crazier  round  the  giggle 
of  his  G  and  the  skittishness  of  his  tittering  chanterelle. 
It  was  near  five  o'clock  when  he  tossed  the  fiddle  to 
Grimani,  smiled  with  Hannah,  and  said  to  Rowland- 
Jones,  "I  am  hungry,  my  friend." 

They  three,  with  Chrisie  and  Grimani,  then  drove  in 
a  cart  to  high-set  Coutances,  dined  there,  and  went  on 
to  Caen,  from  which  Rowland-Jones  took  train  to 
Ouistreham,  the  port  of  Caen,  so  as  to  get  back  to 
England;  while  Chris  and  Hannah  went  to  Rouen; 
from  Rouen  they  started  the  next  day  for  Orrock. 


THE    END 


[  S09  ] 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  205  098    7 


